


Invictus

by Thanatopsiturvy



Series: A Dunmer's Guide to Dealing with Bards [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aerik is a Golden Retriever Puppy, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Civil War Plotline, College of Winterhold - Freeform, Daddy Issues, Deep Lore, Dunmer - Freeform, Elder Scrolls Lore, Elder Scrolls Religions, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fantastical Racism, Like Seriously... Lots of Fantastical Racism, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder Husbands, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psijic Order, Romantic Subplot, Teldryn is Still a Cranky Cinnamon Roll, Thalmor, The Thalmor are the Worst, original magical system
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 07:56:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 110,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18331856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thanatopsiturvy/pseuds/Thanatopsiturvy
Summary: After receiving a mysterious letter, Aerik and Teldryn set out to find its sender, as well as to uncover the mystery behind its message: Aerik's father, a non-existent figure from his past, is alive and well... and heading for Skyrim.The more they discover, however, the thicker and more complex the conspiracies grow.It seems the Thalmor's insidiousness reaches further than simply erasing Talos from the order of the Divines.Sequel toThe Shadow Over Solstheim





	1. Father of the Niben

**Author's Note:**

> Holeeyy shit, y'all. Welcome back. 
> 
> I've been toiling away at this sequel since the idea first struck me a few weeks ago. Once again, I'm posting before I've actually finished the story, but I have the full outline/a complete plot, so all I need is blessed motivation and that elusive lady: Inspiration. 
> 
> For those of you who have followed me over here after reading [The Shadow Over Solstheim ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17527514/chapters/41295050) \- yaaay, I love you! If you're finding this story -without- reading its predecessor, you don't technically have to read it... You'll just be thrown into a pre-existing relationship that you'll just kind of have to... accept. But don't let that discourage you! 
> 
> This is going to be a pretty plot-heavy story, but there is a lot of smut alongside this plot. **I repeat: my characters fuck. Plenty.** Sometimes it's important to the plot, sometimes they just turned to me and said "hey, we're uh... in the mood," and when that happens, I just gotta let 'em go. Bless. 
> 
> But enough of my rambling, happy reading!

INVICTUS

 

_ Out of the night that covers me, _

_ Black as the Pit from pole to pole, _

_ I thank whatever gods may be _

_ For my unconquerable soul. _

 

_ In the fell clutch of circumstance _

_ I have not winced nor cried aloud. _

_ Under the bludgeonings of chance _

_ My head is bloody, but unbowed. _

 

_ Beyond this place of wrath and tears _

_ Looms but the horror of the shade, _

_ And yet the menace of the years _

_ Finds, and shall find me, unafraid. _

 

_ It matters not how strait the gate, _

_ How charged with punishments the soul, _

_ I am the master of my fate: _

_ I am the captain of my soul.  _

 

 

__ \- William Ernest Henley _ _

 

  
  
  


///

 

Riften’s stench was something Teldryn never quite got used to. He remembered Glover Mallory describing it to him once – the cold, metallic tang of fish mixed with stagnant water, but with an odd over current of sickly sweet honey wafting every so often off of the Black Briar Meadery. His eyes scanned their surroundings, keeping a sharp eye on their coin purses as Aerik marched confidently ahead of him, parting the crowds of people with ease and authority. The Bee and Barb was fairly crowded, given the time of day – the market had just closed, the vendors still closing their stalls and packing up for the evening,  and many of the citizens were flocking to the inn for their end-of-the-day drinks. They pushed into the bustling tavern and strode up to the bar to speak to the innkeeper, a hardened Argonian woman in a low-cut dress.

“Gentlemen,” she greeted them amicably enough, her voice raspy. “Welcome to the Bee and Barb. Looking for a place to stay or something to satiate your appetites?”

“Both, thanks! And might I say, what a lovely establishment you have here.” Aerik flashed one of his signature grins. The woman seemed to be unaffected.

“It’s ten gold a night per room,” she nearly sighed. “And let me get Talen-Jei to give you our drink specials.”

The two settled themselves down at one of the tables, eyes scanning the room. Aerik had ordered some bread and cheese for them to share and couldn’t help but try the White-Gold Tower specialty drink.

“Do you think the name is in bad taste?” he asked Teldryn before taking a sip. The Dunmer laughed bitterly, continuing to look from face to face of the patrons in the bar.

“I imagine there are at least a few Nords who would find some way to be offended,” he muttered. He locked eyes with an Altmer across the room who immediately averted his gaze to look at Aerik.

“I think that’s probably him.”

“Hmm… we’ll see if he comes to us.”

The two ate their food over somewhat rehearsed small talk, keeping their possessions close and their wits about them.

“If he was trying not to seem suspicious or untrustworthy, he might have chosen somewhere  _ other _ than Riften to meet,” Aerik grumbled, tilting his head back to finish off his White-Gold Tower. He set the empty stein down on the table a little too forcefully. “Despite my brief stint with the Guild, I still don’t like this place very much.”

“Well, I personally can’t imagine a more fitting location to meet a shadowy figure who holds cryptic promises,” Teldryn smirked. Aerik lobbed a small chunk of bread at him, chuckling. He saw Aerik’s gaze shift to over his shoulder and turned to see the Altmer from earlier approaching them.

“Are you Aerik Havardr?” he asked in a prim, Summerset Isle accent. Aerik leaned back in his seat, pulling the letter out from one of the inner pockets of his black leather armor.

“Are you the mysterious author of this letter?” he asked, holding the seal up to the light. The Altmer’s eyes darted between the letter, Aerik, and Teldryn.

“That I am. I’d… prefer to speak to you in private,” he added. Aerik shook his head.

“This is my husband. If you want to speak more privately, we can arrange for that, but not one on one.” The Altmer seemed to sputter for a moment, unsure of what to say.

“My apologies for my incorrect assumptions,” he offered vaguely. “Yes, if you have a room, let’s speak there.”  

Teldryn sauntered over to the bar to reserve a room for him and Aerik for the night. The bar keep, who he learned was named Keerava, lead them all upstairs to the small, shabby room before promptly turning on her heel and leaving them alone. The Altmer looked painfully awkward, so Teldryn motioned for him to sit in one of the only chairs as Aerik moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Teldryn remained standing, leaning against the door.

“So you know my father?” Aerik started, his casual tone belling the stress this news had caused him over the past week.

“I do… well, I did. His name is Nilandur. We were friends many years ago. We traveled to Skyrim together as part of Summerset Isle’s Mages Guild. After news of the collapse of Winterhold reached us we were sent as part of a group of ambassadors aimed to help the College and the town recover. We didn’t anticipate how very… unwelcome our presence would be.” 

“Yeah,” Aerik grimaced. “Nords aren’t very trusting of magic… or elves, for that matter. Especially Altmer. That was around the time the Great War started, right?”

“We were actually there a few years before it’s official start…” he corrected, shifting in his seat. “We remained in Winterhold for a number of years. On the way back to Summerset Isle, your father met your mother in Solitude. He and I went our separate ways at that point, but we remained in contact for a bit, until he suddenly dropped off the map a little over forty years ago.”

Teldryn glanced to Aerik, attempting to gauge the man’s facial expression. He remained stoic, nodding at this stranger’s words.

“And how did you get word of him heading to Skyrim then?” he pressed. The elf straightened up slightly.

“I had been living in Daggerfall for a good many years before moving back to Skyrim. I still have friends there that knew of my friendship with Nilandur, as well as his physical description. They were the ones to contact me. I had also been curious about what became of his Nord lover. A little bit of research led me to discover that you were her only son. I figured it was the least I could do to let you know of his possible arrival.”

“So what’s with all the cloak and dagger, then? If this is just a favor from a friend,” Aerik pressed, leaning forward and stroking his scraggly beard pensively. The elf’s eyes darted to Teldryn, then to the window just behind the bed.

“Well… it was made clear to me that he was traveling with the Thalmor. I’m not sure of his relation to them, but it might possibly explain why he dropped off the map all those years ago.”

Aerik sighed loudly, rubbing his temples. He looked up at Teldryn who shrugged and inclined his head, wordlessly expressing  _ well, what did you expect? _

“What’s your name?” Teldryn asked, startling the high elf slightly. He blinked at Teldryn once, a slightly enigmatic expression flickering across his face before it was schooled back into a neutral mask.

“Kalatar,” he supplied. “My name is Kalatar. I wish I could give you more information as to where your father might be,” he continued, turning back to Aerik. “But I’m afraid I have limited knowledge. I don’t know if he even knows you exist.” Aerik’s mouth was set into a grim line.

“Of course,” he nodded solemnly. “Well, thank you for this. Is there some way I could repay you?” Kalatar shook his head, but stopped, looking contemplative for a moment. He reached his long fingers below the neckline of his robes, pulling out a small pendant that hung from a delicate silver chain around his neck.

“If you find Nilandur, you could give him this. Tell him Kalatar wanted him to have it. It would… mean a lot to me,” he offered, removing the necklace and handing it to Aerik. He took it, inspecting the pendant before looking back up at Kalatar with compassionate eyes.

“Of course,” he assured. “You can come with us, you know. To look for him.” Kalatar was already shaking his head.

“No, no… I’d rather not get mixed up with the Thalmor. Whatever Nilandur has gotten himself into, well… that’s not the mer who was my friend all those years ago. But if he will accept that pendant from you, that will be enough for me.”

Aerik pocketed the necklace, patting it once where it sat against his side.

“You have my word,” he smiled kindly, extending his hand. “Thank you for this. Really.” Kalatar took it, shaking Aerik’s hand firmly.

“Of course. I wish I could be of more help… I don’t mean to be so mysterious and vague but…” he looked over towards the window again. “You know how the Thalmor are.”

“That we do,” Aerik nodded with a sigh. “Be careful out there.”

Kalatar got up and Teldryn opened the door for him, allowing the Altmer to shuffle out, looking nervously around before skittering back down the stairs and out of the tavern. Teldryn shut the door, locking it, before turning to Aerik, crossing his arms. Aerik got to his feet, pacing nervously.

“What do you think?” he asked finally, earning a shrug from Teldryn.

“He seemed nervous to even be here,” Teldryn mused.

“Gods, I hope that after all these years I don’t finally get the chance to meet my father only to find out he’s with the fucking Thalmor,” Aerik groaned, falling back onto the bed and covering his eyes.

Teldryn began to meticulously remove his armor, having swapped out his signature chitin for sleekly crafted ebony a few years ago. He set his chest plate and bracers on the chair where Kalatar had sat and moved to sit down next to Aerik on the bed.

“There’s no need to worry until we have proof that there’s something to worry about,” he offered, squeezing Aerik’s thigh in reassurance.

“Thanks,” his husband smiled up at him, a gesture that still made his heart flutter with fondness. “I guess we’ll… head for Solitude tomorrow?”

“If that is what you wish. I’m right beside you.”

“You’re the best,” he sighed, reaching up and pulling Teldryn down to lie beside him. “I have a friend there who may be able to give us some leads… and maybe even put us up for free. I’d hate to spring it on him, though… we haven’t really stayed in contact over the years, but we were close for a while. Attended the College together.  I can send a courier ahead of us to give him some heads up.”

“Uhg, another bard to deal with?” Teldryn teased, kissing Aerik’s jaw. He felt the man grin.

“Oh I’m much worse than he is.”

“I believe it.”

“Are you  _ trying _ to make me withhold sex from you tonight?”

“I doubt you have the strength…”

Aerik laughed, rolling to straddle Teldryn’s hips, proceeding to kiss him senseless. There was plenty to worry about and fret over, but for the evening at least Teldryn was more than happy to be a welcome distraction.  He rolled his hips upwards, straining for more contact, relishing in the way Aerik groaned breathily.

“What do you want, my love?” Teldryn rumbled into his ear, fingers nimbly working to unbuckle the man’s tightly fitted, dark leather armor. Aerik made a low, thoughtful noise, sliding his hands under Teldryn’s back.

“Considering we might be a little preoccupied in the coming days, I’d wouldn’t mind feeling your cock up my ass tonight,” he purred right back into Teldryn’s ear, making the mer groan and grind his hips against Aerik’s even harder. He grabbed a fistful of his short, blonde hair. Aerik panted through a smile as his head was forced back a bit, exposing his throat.

“Where are your manners?” Teldryn growled, causing Aerik’s smile to widen, white teeth flashing in the low light.

“I’m sorry… Will you  _ please _ put your cock up my ass tonight?”

Teldryn flipped their positions, grabbing Aerik roughly by the waist and flipping him onto his back, eliciting a breathy laugh.

“Get this off,” he commanded, unhooking a few more of the leather straps before leaving Aerik to do the rest. He shed the remainder of his own clothes and stood to watch Aerik slide out of his armor, unapologetically naked, cock standing proudly at attention. Though they had taken things slowly in the beginning of their relationship, taking time to explore what the other enjoyed, once it became apparent that Aerik  _ really _ liked to be dominated in the bedroom, Teldryn didn’t hold back. He  _ liked _ to dominate. He stroked himself a few times as Aerik made a particular show out of pulling down his pants.

“Here.” Teldryn pointed impatiently at the floor in front of him. Fully naked, Aerik slid to his knees, running his hands worshipfully up Teldryn’s muscled thighs, tracing the lines of the tattoos that curled around his hips with his thumbs.

“I want you to prepare yourself while you suck me,” he ordered, very clipped and matter-of-fact.

“Yes, serjo,” Aerik breathed against Teldryn’s dick, taking two of his own fingers into his mouth to suck before reaching behind himself to press against his entrance. He groaned, keening and needy as he took Teldryn’s length into his mouth, fingering himself open with one hand as the other wrapped around the base of Teldryn’s cock.

Teldryn let his head fall back, eyes closed, one hand tangled in Aerik’s hair as the other rested against the small of his own back. He bucked his hips slightly in rhythm with the pace Aerik had set, groaning low in the back of his throat.

“Mmm… wonderful,” Teldryn rumbled, opening his eyes and bringing both his hands to the side of Aerik’s face. He felt the outline of his cock between the man’s cheeks, wrapping one hand around the back of Aerik’s head to hold him in place, forcing him to take as much as he could into his throat. We he felt Aerik begin to shift and squirm, throat spasming around his cock, he released. The man pulled back with a gasp, lips swollen and eyes watering slightly. He looked up at Teldryn, hazy and lust-drunk, two fingers buried in his ass, awaiting instruction.

“On the bed you go. Hands and knees,” he motioned, and Aerik scrambled to comply, situating himself against the furs. Teldryn stooped to retrieve their oil. He ran a hand over Aerik’s ass appreciatively before uncorking the small bottle and drizzling a generous portion into his cleft. Aerik hissed at the cold, but groaned wantonly as Teldryn rubbed himself into the slick, centering the head of his cock against that tight ring of muscle.

“Please,” Aerik all but whimpered, pressing back slightly. Teldryn reached a hand out to hold his hip firmly in place.

“No, no,” he chided, before pressing slowly forward. Aerik squirmed, panting heavily and dropping to his forearms. Teldryn took his time, savoring the sensation – the hot, tight heat combined with Aerik’s shallow, whining breaths. He sunk all the way to the hilt, running a hand softly over Aerik’s back before hooking his fingers into the crook of his pale thighs and slowly pulling out almost entirely.

“Fffuck…” Aerik almost sobbed as Teldryn pushed completely back in, repeating the motions a few more times.

“Dibella’s tits, Tel… please just…  _ fuck _ me!” Aerik ground out through clenched teeth.

“Manners…” Teldryn grumbled under his breath, causing Aerik to sigh loudly as the mer continued at his maddeningly slow pace.

“ _ Please _ fuck me, serjo?” he begged tightly, arching his back and lifting his chin as Teldryn bottomed out again.

With a low growl, Teldryn shoved Aerik’s face down into the furs of the bed, leaning forward and beginning to pound into the man’s ass. Aerik was one of the louder partners he’d ever been with, and being in a crowded inn made no difference to the man. He nearly shouted in punctuation with every thrust, hands scrambling for purchase as Teldryn drove him into the mattress. He ended up pressing his hands against the wall to keep himself from being fucked into it. Teldryn persisted at his brutal pace, his brow furrowed in concentration with sweat beading around his hairline. Aerik’s knees had slowly slid out from under him, leaving him belly down on the mattress, his cries muffled against his own outstretched arm. Teldryn reached up, wrapping a hand around Aerik’s throat and squeezing ever so slightly. He saw the man’s eyes roll back into his head for a moment before his whole face contracted and he let out a series of hoarse shouts, which Teldryn knew meant he was cumming hard against the mattress. The sight sent him over the edge, and with just a few more thrust he, too, was finding his release, hips stuttering to completion as he groaned hard through his own clenched teeth.

Their heavy breathing filled the silence of the room, Teldryn rubbing distracted circled against Aerik’s low back before slowly pulling out, eliciting a groan from the man.

“Gods that was good,” he said into the furs, voice muffled. “I think I forgot my own name there for a bit…”

“Happy… to provide…” Teldryn panted, walking stiffly over to dampen a cloth in the room’s water basin. He cleaned himself before gingerly attending to Aerik, who rolled over and grimaced at the mess he’d made on the bed.

“I’m sure they’ve seen worse,” Teldryn smirked, dabbing at it as best he could before tossing the rag into the basin. He pulled back the furs and motioned Aerik under before moving around the room to extinguish a few of the candles.

“I’m not tired yet,” Aerik protested through a yawn, earning a look from Teldryn.

“Oh, shut up,” Aerik huffed.

“I didn’t say anything,” Teldryn chuckled, climbing into bed next to him. Aerik immediately encircled him, throwing an arm across his chest and hooking a long leg over his thighs. Tedryn pressed a kiss onto the top of his head, always seeming to be the one to hold Aerik, despite his size.

“You’re clingier than a baby netch,” he chuckled affectionately, wrapping an arm around his husband’s shoulder. A moment of silence stretched between them. Teldryn could feel Aerik’s eyelashes fluttering against his chest.

“Cut it out,” he said at last. Aerik shifted.

“I’m not doing anything…”

“You’re fretting. I can feel it.” Aerik sighed, running a hand up Teldryn’s chest, carding his fingers through the sparse hair that dappled its center.

“Well what am I supposed to do?” he asked, slightly miffed. Teldryn thought for a moment.

“You could… tell me a story?” he offered. Aerik laughed, shifting to look up at him.

“Are there any you haven’t heard?” he asked with a quirked brow.

“I’m sure you can think of something,” Teldryn smirked. “You’re a veritable font of endless stories.” Aerik looked thoughtful for a moment, laying his head back down against Teldryn’s chest.

“Did I ever tell you… about how the headmaster and I at the Bards College completely made up nearly half of King Olaf’s verse to convince Jarl Elisif to let us have our burning ceremony?” Teldryn let out a deep, rumbling laugh, prompting Aerik to do the same.

“That sounds about right,” he agreed through his chuckling.

“It’s true! And they still teach the version we made up at the college today! I memorized it. Want to hear?”

“Absolutely, my love.”

 

///


	2. On Stepping Lightly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello beautiful readers! Welcome to another chapter.  
> Thanks so much for all the lovely comments and kudos so far! This story has really taken off and I'm exercising a serious amount of restraint by only posting a chapter once a week. It's for my own good, though. Lots of furious typing and editing behind the scenes.  
> Anyhoo, enjoy this next installment!  
> ~Topsy

They pulled into Solitude’s port at high noon six days after their meeting with Kalatar in Riften. They had trekked up to Windhelm and boarded a boat that was set to sail along the northern coast. Aerik’s nervous energy was rising steadily every hour, beginning to grate on Teldryn’s nerves. 

“Will you cut that out?” he snapped, grabbing Aerik’s hands to prevent him from incessantly drumming on his knees. “We’re not going to bump into him on the streets.” 

“First of all, you don’t know that, and secondly… it’s not just my dad that’s on my mind,” Aerik explained with a guilty sort of look on his face. Teldryn quirked an eyebrow, motioning for him to continue. 

“It’s my friend, Morimir,” Aerik rubbed the back of his neck. “The courier has most likely gotten to him by now and I explained as much of the situation as I could without providing too many details. And, like I said, we haven’t stayed in contact super well over the years, but the last time I saw him we were kind of…” Aerik made an explicit hand gesture with his hands. Teldryn let out a bark of a laugh. 

“And how long ago was it that you were…?” he copied the gesture. Aerik smirked at him through his annoyance.

“Probably only a few months before I set out for Solstheim. Miraak’s cultists attacked me while I was staying with him in Solitude. It was a casual thing, but I don’t know if he still…” he trailed off again, sighing in exasperation. 

“You’re not sure if he’ll expect you to…?” Teldryn made the hand gesture again, prompting Aerik to smack his hands out of the air. They shared a laugh as the boat’s crew finished lashing her to the docks. The two grabbed their packs and stepped off onto solid ground. 

 

“So why does that make you nervous? Clearly you have a husband, now. If he’s a good enough friend he’ll respect that. Maybe he has a spouse of his own,” Teldryn reasoned, earning a reluctant  shrug from Aerik.

“I appreciate that you’re the logical one.”

“One of us has to be,” Teldryn goaded. Aerik punched him in the shoulder. 

 

“If it really makes you that uncomfortable, love, we have plenty of coin with us to stay at the Inn.”

“Uhg… that feels like giving up,” Aerik groaned. “Not to mention my main reason for reaching out to him is that he might have some useful information regarding the Thalmor… I just don’t do well with social confrontation.”

“Not everyone can like you all the time, you know.”

“But I  _ want _ everyone to like me all the time!” Aerik pouted exaggeratedly. 

 

The hike to the Solitude’s western gate left Teldryn a little breathless. Some of the patrol guards nodded to them as they passed, but otherwise ignored their presence. They were let in through the gates without much fanfare, and Teldryn couldn’t help but admire the city. Again, it was no Blacklight, but of all the cities Skyrim had to offer it was certainly the loveliest. Children played in the streets, the air was crisp and clean, and there was always soft music on the wind. Teldryn took a deep breath, looking up to see a lone hawk passing high overhead. 

“Where to?” he asked Aerik, who had paused to give a beggar a few spare coins. He nodded his head down the street. 

“He has a small flat down past the barracks. Want to get a drink first?” 

“Stop avoiding this,” Teldryn scolded. His husband, a grown man, nearly stomped his foot like a toddler before rolling his eyes.

“Fine.”

 

///

 

Aerik knocked briskly three times on the wooden door of Morimir’s flat, stepping back to stand beside Teldryn, exhaling loudly. 

“Did you mention me in the letter?” Teldryn finally thought to ask. 

“Not exactly,” Aerik confessed, and Teldryn couldn’t help but feel a spike of anger shoot through him. 

“You’re an idiot.” Just then the door opened to reveal a short, Bosmer man with bright green eyes beaming out at them. His smile faltered slightly when his gaze landed on Teldryn, but remained in place. 

“Aerik! It was a lovely surprise to hear from you! Please, come in. Who’s your friend?” They were shuffled into the small flat and crowded into a cramped sitting area. Much of the furniture was standard Nord fare, but there were certain, distinctly Bosmer touches that Teldryn couldn’t help but notice.

“Ah, uh, Morimir, this is my husband, Teldryn,” he stumbled, only clearing his throat once. “Teldryn, this is Morimir. We attended the Bards College together,” he explained, as if he hadn’t already explained it to him. Teldryn shook Morimir’s hand probably a little more firmly than he needed to. The wood elf looked a little stunned, but kept a smile on his face regardless.  _ Bards _ .

“Wow, husband,” he chirped. “Congratulations.” An awkward silence passed between the three of them. “How about a drink? To celebrate?”

“Yes! Perfect. That sounds great,” Aerik exhaled loudly. 

 

The two of them shuffled to sit down as Morimir bustled over to the kitchen, beginning to grab glasses and a bottle of mead. Teldryn was pointedly not looking at Aerik, unable to quell a somewhat uncategorized emotion that had taken root in his chest – it was definitely within the spectrum of  _ angry _ . 

“So where did you two meet?” Morimir asked, padding over to sit down in a chair across from them, placing three glasses and a large bottle of mead on the low table in the center of the room.

“Solstheim,” Aerik supplied, smiling tightly. “We’ve been together for about four years, married for two.” He cleared his throat. “But we’re not really here on honeymoon,” he transitioned. Morimir nodded, beginning to pour the mead. 

“None for me, thanks,” Teldryn said quickly, as the elf was about to fill his glass. Morimir nodded sheepishly, holding his glass up to clink against Aeriks before knocking the liquid back in one gulp and promptly refilling his glass. Teldryn tried not to be impressed.

“Right, in your letter you mentioned your father? I thought you didn’t know who he was?”  

“I don’t. And I couldn’t say much in the letter. We got a tip from someone who knew my father… that he’s heading for Skyrim.”

“Well, that’s good news right?” Morimir tried, and Teldryn had to give him some credit for the sheer optimism radiating off of the mer. If it wasn’t so incredibly annoying. 

“It would be good news,” Aerik began. “If it wasn’t also relayed that he was traveling with Thalmor agents.” The Bosmer’s face paled significantly. He paused, staring off into the distance, before downing his glass of mead once more and refilling it. 

“And you think I might have some kind of information that might help you, right?” Morimir asked, tone shifting to something much colder. Teldryn finally looked at Aerik, eyes narrowing. It seemed he’d left out crucial information on both sides. 

“I had hoped you might...?” he spoke as carefully as he could. Morimir let out a scoff, downing his third glass before picking up the mead bottle instead. 

“Y’know, I thought maybe in nearly five years you would have changed, but you are still the same selfish, short-sighted son of a bitch you were when you left. Real winner you married here...” he sneered, turning to Teldryn. The elf’s total shift in demeanor was jarring, to say the least, leaving Teldryn a bit speechless. 

“Word of advice maybe?” he continued, slurring slightly. “Don’t tell him anything you don’t want him to use against you at a later date.”

“Perhaps we should go,” Teldryn suggested calmly, grabbing Aerik by his upper arm. Morimir waved his hands wildly. 

“Oh no! No, don’t go. You want information, right? Want to know where the Thalmor’s first stop is? After they cross the border?” Morimir said, smiling maniacally and sloshing a bit of mead onto the table. 

“I see you haven’t gotten any less fond of your drink, either,” Aerik growled, refusing to budge. 

“Okay, that’s quite enough of that,” Teldryn snapped, rising to his feet.

“Northwatch Keep,” Morimir spat, giving Teldryn pause. “Their first stop is Northwatch Keep...and, might I add, it’s a lovely little spot for a honeymoon, since it seems like that’s where you two will be heading. The torture chambers are to  _ die _ for. But hey, do me a favor when you guys run in there to get yourself killed? Any prisoners you see that look like they may have been tortured to the brink of madness… why don’t you just put them out of their misery instead of freeing them. They'll thank you for that. I _promise_.”

 

There was a long, tense silence following that sentence that had Teldryn slowly piecing the situation together in his head. Morimir and Aerik were currently locked in a staring battle that neither seemed to be backing down from. 

“I’m sorry,” Teldryn said at last, trying very hard to sound like he was. Morimir’s eyes snapped to him, already red rimmed and unsteady. “I didn’t know,” he elaborated. The Bosmer seemed to soften slightly, but quickly went rigid, taking another long drink of mead. 

“You should go…” he said finally. Aerik got up slowly. Too slowly for Morimir’s liking, apparently. 

“Get the  _ fuck _ out of my house,” he added for emphasis. Teldryn sighed, turning on his heel and exiting. Aerik trailed after him sullenly. 

 

Once the door had slammed behind them and they were safely several paces away from Morimir’s flat, Teldryn wheeled on Aerik. 

“Care to explain what just happened back there?” he growled lowly. Aerik brushed past him, face set into a scowl. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Teldryn laughed bitterly, reaching out to grab the man’s upper arm, forcing him to face him. Aerik met his eyes reluctantly, still fuming. 

“We’re going to Northwatch Keep,” he said far too calmly. 

“Oh are we now? And you know where that is? And you’re in a right and proper mental state for that? No, my love, I don’t think so. What you’re  _ going _ to do is tell me whatever crucial information you excluded before we walked into that poor mer’s house.” 

“Poor mer? I think I preferred you when you were jealous,” Aerik sneered. Teldryn’s grip on his arm tightened. 

“Don’t do this. Remember who your enemies are. I am not one of them,” he stated lowly.  A look of extreme guilt washed over Aerik’s face, his posture slumping. He scrubbed a hand over his face, letting out a frustrated groan. 

 

“Morimir’s family, himself included,” he began slowly, measuring his words, “were captured by the Thalmor when they were immigrating to Skyrim. They spared him much of the torture, since he was just a child, but…” He put his face in his hands. “...but  they tortured his parents... his mother later went mad because of it.”

 

Teldryn was silent for a beat, letting the information roll around in his head. 

“You’re an idiot,” he said for the second time that day, with more affection than malice. 

“I know I am,” Aerik agreed, looking utterly miserable. “I thought I… I just thought maybe he’d be more willing to talk…” He sighed wearily. “I just fucked that up massively.”

“You did,” Teldryn agreed with a nod. “And once some time has passed you most certainly owe him an apology.” Teldryn grimaced at his own words. He didn’t like playing the parental role, especially to his husband. The colloquialism ‘daddy issues’ didn’t even begin to cover it, especially now. 

“Regardless,” Aerik continued, beginning to walk again. “Northwatch Keep is still a good first place to start.”

“I suppose,” Teldryn ceded. “But how do you plan on finding it? We can’t exactly go knocking door to door asking for directions to a Thalmor fort.” 

 

A distant hawk’s cry drew his attention upward momentarily. It was a beautiful day, despite the stress of earlier. The sky was a deep, azure blue; small, soft clouds like pulled tundra cotton floated lazily in indistinguishable patterns. He took a moment to breathe and re-center his mind, his pulse finally returning to a normal speed. Aerik walked ahead of him a ways, still somewhat surly.  

“I was thinking about asking Legate Rikke,” he suggested after a moment, turning to look at Teldryn as he walked backwards. “We haven’t exactly spoken since the peace council at High Hrothgar, but she’s our best bet. Plus, I’m pretty sure she hates the Thalmor, but keeps it to herself.” Teldryn made a motion of agreement, glancing up at the sky one last time.

“Well, lead on, then.”  

 

///

 

Castle Dour was dark and quiet, the suspicious gazes of the guards and Imperial soldiers putting Teldryn on edge as he followed Aerik into the General’s drawing room. Rikke and Tullius were hunkered down over a large map of Skyrim, muttering to each other in hushed tones. Aerik cleared his throat and both their heads snapped up to look at them. 

“Dragonborn!” Tullius exclaimed, almost in disbelief. “To what do we owe your visit? Can we finally count you amongst our numbers?”

“I’m afraid I’m still doing my best to stay out of politics,” Aerik smiled somewhat regretfully. “But I was hoping I could have a word with Legate Rikke, if I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Of course,” Tullius nodded firmly before turning to Rikke. “I need to speak to Captain Aldis regarding one of our camps near Winterhold. I’ll return shortly.” She saluted him dutifully as he exited while Aerik and Teldryn simply nodded in recognition. 

 

“So,” Rikke began, walking around the table to address Aerik. “What is it you need?” Aerik paused for a moment, seeming to compose the proper request in his mind. 

“We have a close friend who may have been captured by the Thalmor,” he began quietly as Teldryn kept  his face as neutral as possible. “While we’ll be acting as independents… I came to you to ask if you could direct us to the location of Northwatch Keep.” Rikke’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. 

“Northwatch Keep,” she repeated. “If your friend is there, then… I’m sorry to say, there’s a very good chance they are no longer alive.”

“We understand that,” Aerik replied with a grim nod. “But we still hope…” he trailed off somewhat dramatically, earning a sympathetic look from Rikke. Teldryn had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.  _ Bards _ , he thought again, with some fondness. Rikke straightened up, her soldier’s demeanor returning. 

“Well, unfortunately, due to my allegiance with the Empire, I cannot give you the information you seek,” she said, almost robotically. She strode around the table and spread her fingers out over the top of the large map. Aerik bristled. 

“Surely there must be something you could tell us?” he pressed, aggravated. She tapped her right forefinger against the map, drawing Teldryn’s eyes down. 

“I’m sorry, Dragonborn, but the location of Northwatch Keep is confidential. I cannot give you its location,” she repeated, somewhat too loud for the small room.  _ Tap tap tap _ . Her finger was rhythmically tapping a spot on the map to the northwest of Solitude. 

“We understand,” Teldryn spoke up from behind Aerik. His husband whirled on him, frustration painted plainly across his face.  

“Do we?” he hissed. Teldryn nodded, eyes boring into Aerik’s with unspoken words, giving the man pause. Teldryn walked over to the table, looking down at Rikke’s hands a little more closely.  _ Tap tap tap _ . Got it. 

“Sorry to have bothered you, Legate,” Teldryn offered before grabbing Aerik by his arm and pulling the man out of the room. 

 

Once they were back out into the sunlight, Teldryn quickly began digging in Aerik’s pack, fishing out their map. 

“What was all that about?” Aerik snapped. “And what are you doing?” 

“She gave us directions,” Teldryn mumbled, pulling open their map and scanning his eyes along the upper left corner. “Here.” He pointed to the spot where she had been tapping – on the northern coast, close to the border to High Rock, northwest of Dragon’s Bridge. Aerik snatched the map out of his hands, looking closely at the spot where Teldryn had pointed. 

“I’m an idiot,” he said at last with a sigh, repeating Teldryn’s words from earlier. 

“No, you’re just  _ distracted _ , which could get us killed if you don’t get your head back between your shoulders.” Teldryn rubbed his temples in exasperation. “Look, we can head that way immediately, but I need you to promise me that you’re going to keep your wits about you. Forget about what happened with Morimir, forget about whatever unresolved emotions you may have regarding your father, and treat this like the mission that it is.” 

 

Aerik looked thoroughly chastised, eyes falling to the ground. Teldryn sighed, leaning in and gabbing Aerik behind his neck to bring him down for a kiss. 

“I love you,” he offered lowly, pressing their foreheads together. “But I need you to focus.”

“Thank you,” Aerik whispered, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. When he opened them again, they were brilliant with determination, their golden color like that of the hawks that circled overhead. Teldryn smiled.

“Let’s go ruin some Thalmor’s day, hmm?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, Aerik. That Bardic charm can only get you so far in life... 
> 
> The plot thickens - off to Northwatch Keep! What perils await our heroes in its depths? Will Aerik's father even be there? And what role does he play in all this gobbledygook?  
> Tune in next time for the Adventures of Cranky McCinnamonRoll and Sir Thinks-With-Dick!


	3. The Old Ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hark! Another chapter! [This one's a long one].
> 
> CW: Canon-typical violence, mentions of torture.

It took them several hours after leaving Solitude to wind their way up the snowy trails of Haafingar towards the northern coast. After some back-tracking and some frustrated map consulting, they finally managed to find the somewhat hidden path that lead them down towards the coast. The sun was completely obscured by cloud cover at this point and snow fell steadily, the frozen wasteland of the north having dominated the landscape. They began to make their descent when Aerik held up his fist in a motion to hold position. Teldryn brought flames into his hands preemptively. Aerik pointed off to their right where a trail of blood led up to an old ruin. He drew his bow, nocking an arrow, as they crept around the side. A massive bear lay sleeping against the rock wall surrounded by animal corpses, white fur rustling slightly in the cold wind. Aerik loosed his arrow, striking the beast in its side, electrical energy coursing through its body from the enchanted weapon. It roared to life, lumbering to its feet and zeroing in on its attackers. Teldryn stepped forward and hurled two fireballs in its direction, knocking it back slightly as Aerik released a final arrow, striking it between the eyes. With a groan it fell to its side, motionless. 

 

“Good spot, there,” Teldryn murmured as they continued down the path. 

“I’m making a concerted effort to be less… distracted,” Aerik replied with a sideways smile. As the ground began to level, Teldryn could make out what appeared to be smoke drifting upwards from a small island out on the water near the wreckage of an old cargo ship. 

“Bandits, most likely,” he said quietly to Aerik. “Let’s stay low. No need to arouse more trouble than absolutely necessary.”  

 

They darted quickly along the shoreline, avoiding the lounging horkers that eyed them warily. Finally, a structure came into view that jutted out of a small peninsula. 

“Think this is the place?” Aerik asked quietly as they stopped to catch their breath. 

“Only one way to find out,” Teldryn grumbled, loosening up his shoulders. He closed his eyes and began to focus on channeling swirling, purple energy into his palms, conjuring a bound bow. He and Aerik exchanged nods before moving forward. They approached the southern gate cautiously, keeping low to the ground and near the outer wall. 

“ _ Halt! _ ” a prim, high elf voice called out. “State your business or you will be shot!” Teldryn looked up to see that an archer had spotted them, her bow currently trained on Aerik who was out in front.

“Oh hello!” Aerik called out in far too friendly a voice, standing up from his crouched position. “We’re actually quite lost. This isn’t Northwatch Keep, is it?” 

“You are trespassing on Thalmor property,” she called out. Several other guards were approaching them from the gate now, weapons drawn. “Leave or face the consequences.”

“That’s all I needed to know,” Aerik replied, putting his hands up in a sign of surrender.

 

He turned to the three approaching guards and smiled before drawing in a deep breath. 

“ _ FUS… ROH DAH! _ ” With startled cries the elves flew backwards, weapons and bits of armor scattering as their limps forms skittered across the snow. Teldryn stood upright, aiming his bound bow at the archer and loosing a spectral, daedric arrow, which buried itself expertly in the center of her chest, piercing her armor. She cried out in alarm and fell off the wall. 

“The whole damn fort knows we’re here now!” he yelled to Aerik who was already several paces ahead of him, smiling devilishly and casting an armor spell before pulling the twin ebony swords from his back. Teldryn secured his helmet then charged after him. They stopped just outside of the gate, pressed up against the outer wall. Aerik pulled his dark hood up over his head and secured his leather facemask before giving an affirmative nod. They stormed into the courtyard of the fort, Aerik’s ebony blades slicing through the approaching guards as if their armor was made of lard and not hardened, elf-forged metal. Teldryn hung back to assist from a distance, the purple energy of his conjured bow whipping like wild smoke in his hands as his spectral arrows met their marks. He felt an arrow ping off his armor and quickly turned to eliminate its source. Many of the guards went down without much effort, and soon enough the courtyard was littered with the bodies of high elves. 

 

“Hopefully none of these were my dad.” It was a joke, but Teldryn heard the strain in Aerik’s voice. 

“I doubt he’d be put on guard duty,” he tried to comfort. “Let’s get inside.”

 

The inside of the fort was drafty and cold. A tattered Imperial banner fluttered on the wall next to them in an unseen breeze as empty barrels and even emptier wine bottled littered the the room. The archway directly in front of them was the first of many that would lead them deep into the underbelly of the fort. They crept quietly to the edge of the top step. Teldryn saw the flicker of firelight down below and the movement of shadows. A high elf in shining golden armor crossed his line of sight and he loosed an arrow without hesitation, realizing too late that they should probably attempt to keep some of these elves alive. Aerik blew down the stairs, his swords sheathed, green energy swirling in one of his palms, electricity in the other. Teldryn heard the guard he had shot hit the ground as Aerik paralyzed them, but another crackling of electricity reached his ears at the same time. He leapt down the stairs, bow drawn, to find Aerik in a standoff with a hooded Thalmor mage. Moving quickly, he sunk an arrow into the elf, breaking his ward, giving Aerik the opportunity to paralyze him. 

 

They stood in the room for a moment looking at each other before Aerik went over to kneel by the guard. She was a woman, looking at him with hatred through the paralysis spell.  

“Not him, clearly,” Aerik sighed. Teldryn wordlessly walked over and put an arrow through her head – a quick death and a long-practiced detachment to it. The mage, still paralyzed on the floor, had a mixture of hatred and fear on his face. 

“Your name isn’t Nilandur is it?” Aerik asked as he bent to one knee. The elf’s facial expression warped into something akin to confusion, the paralysis spell slowly beginning to wear off. 

“… You’ll… die… for this…” he managed, small currents of electricity beginning to gather in his hands. Teldryn put an arrow in his head as well, frowning behind his helmet.

“This method probably isn’t the best,” he confessed with a sigh. Aerik shrugged. 

“I don’t know what else to do, honestly. Plus, if my father is Thalmor, I guess I’d rather him be dead anyways,” he said half-heartedly, avoiding Teldryn’s eyes.

 

They descended further down into the fort, taking out any Thalmor who crossed their path without questioning them. As they passed through a room that looked like a mess hall, Aerik couldn’t help himself and stole two bottles of Nord mead, shoving them into their packs with a cheeky grin. Teldryn said nothing, allowing the man his moment of whimsy. They encountered two more guards and another mage in the next chamber.. After dispatching them, Aerik rustled around through the mage’s pockets, as he had been doing with every other Thalmor they had taken out. 

“Ah ha!” he exclaimed softly, pulling a key out of the mer’s robes. “Hopefully this comes in handy.” 

 

They continued on dutifully. Cobwebs cluttered the corners of the rooms while old tables and chair stood half rotting in the corners. More empty wine bottles lay abandoned across the floors and ruined books lined decrepit bookshelves. The place seemed as though it had been long abandoned before the Thalmor moved into it. They peeked into one last room only to come face to face with the chief interrogator himself, a tall, pallid Altmer in classic hooded Thalmor robes. He had a jumpy guard by his side who jerked his weapon upwards defensively as they walked in. The interrogator stood over the body of a bloodied Nord, an older man, who was shackled to the wall, clinging to life. He held some kind of sharp instrument in his hand, glistening wetly with fresh blood, and wore an expression of annoyance on his face. 

“Kill them,” he told the guard in a disinterested kind of way. As the guard lunged forward, lifting his sword to strike, Aerik had already unsheathed his ebony swords and swiftly ran both blades through the mer’s chest, killing him almost instantly. The bored look on the interrogator’s face was quickly replaced with fear. He dropped his torture instrument and cast a shield, firing a nasty bold of chain lightning at Aerik, who pivoted and took the brunt of it with his left shoulder. Teldryn drew his spectral bow as quickly as he could, backing away as he fired two arrows into the mage, one right after the other. It was enough to break the shield spell, giving Aerik the opportunity to rush him, trapping the mer’s neck between his two crisscrossed swords. 

“Please, tell me your name isn’t Nilandur,” he growled. The Altmer merely laughed at him before spitting in his face. In one fluid motion, Aerik decapitated him, the high elf’s blood splattering the wall and the Aerik’s armor. 

 

Teldryn grabbed a key he spotted off the far table, his bow vanishing with a crackle. He strode over and quickly unlocked the manacles that held the Nord man to the wall. 

“Can you walk?” he asked, reaching a hand down to help the man up. 

“Who… are you people?” he asked, voice hoarse and strained. 

“Here to help,” Teldryn assured. “Follow us and we’ll get you out of here. Are there any more prisoners?” The man got to his feet warily, pointing a finger towards the door. “Across the hall out there… that’s where the cells are. Give me a moment and I’ll be able to help.” He stood up, stretching, squeezing his wrists and shaking out his arms. Blood ran down the sides of his face from where the interrogator had begun to cut along his hairline, though he seemed not to notice. Teldryn had to give it to the Nords – they were industrious, determined bastards. 

“What’s your name?” Aerik asked. The Nord looked him over. Both he and Teldryn had their faces obscured, but Aerik’s eyes were still visible – the golden eyes of an Altmer. 

“Thorald. Thorald Gray-Mane,” the man responded. “You have my gratitude for saving me.”

“You’re Thorald Gray-Mane?” Aerik exclaimed, sheathing his swords. “We live in Whiterun. Your mother has never given up hope that you were still yet alive. I’m happy she was right.” Thorald smiled a full, toothy smile, clapping a hand on Aerik’s shoulder. 

“Your words bring me strength. Let’s kill the rest of these Thalmor bastards and get out of this dank prison.”

 

The three men burst into the main prison room, startling the two guards that sat at the table. Despite however long Thorald had been held captive down here, he fought like a saber cat, roaring as he took a mace to one of the elves’ heads before wheeling on the archer in the corner.

“Thorald, out of the way!” Aerik called as he and Teldryn shot duel spells, fire and lightning, at the elf, knocking her back against the wall. Thorald finished her off, his stolen mace landing in her chest with a sickening, squelching crunch. 

 

Aerik quickly ran over to the two levers near the door, throwing them both to open the iron gates of the prison cells. The rusted metal screeched loudly as the doors swung open, and two Nords and an Argonian ran out immediately, buzzing with excitement and questions. Thorald approached them and explained that they were being freed. Aerik was walking back over to them when his attention was drawn to one of the stalls. 

“Hey, are you okay? Can you walk?” he asked to whomever still remained. Teldryn strode over to stand beside him to see a hooded figure in the cell, sitting in almost a meditative position, strange silver cuffs encircling his wrists. Bright, golden eyes flashed under the hood as the figure looked up at them – an Altmer.

“I expected to be held here for much longer than this,” he laughed tiredly. Two long tendrils of fair, blond hair framed his face, the lines around his eyes the only thing giving away his age. Teldryn felt Aerik tense beside him.

“Is your name Nilandur?” Aerik asked, voice tight. The mer blinked at him in surprise, slowly rising to stand, his feet bare against the cold stone floor.

“Who are you? How do you know my name?” he asked, eyes narrowing with distrust. Teldryn felt stunned, rooted to the spot. They had actually found him. This… was Aerik’s father.

“We’re here to save you,” Aerik managed. “Come with us and we’ll explain everything.” 

 

///

 

The sun had faded quickly while they were inside the fort, though the weather had abated significantly. The skies were clear, alight with the beginnings of the aurora borealis as they emerged from the Thalmor prison. Teldryn watched Nilandur turn his head to the sky, eyes shimmering with awe at the sight. Thorald had clasped Aerik’s hand in his own, once again thanking him.

“May I have your name, stranger?” Thorald asked. 

“It’s probably best if you didn’t,” Aerik sighed, but the Nord nodded in understanding.

“It’s not safe for me or my family if I return to Whiterun. The best thing I can do now is to head for Winterhold and join up with the Stormcloaks there. You should consider joining Ulfric’s cause, even if you are a high elf.” 

“Uh…” Aerik blinked dumbly at him for a moment. “Thanks. I’ll… yeah, maybe. Travel safely.”

 

They bid their farewells, the other freed prisoners who choose to follow Thorald after pilfering armor off the fallen elves. Aerik had selected the least damaged armor he could find for Nilandur to wear so the mer didn’t freeze to death as they began their re-ascension into the snowy cliffs. 

“Do you know how we can get those cuffs off you?” Aerik asked as Nilandur struggled to change. 

“I’m afraid not… These are specially designed to suppress the flow of magicka in mages. I doubt they can be magically unlocked or destroyed,” Nilandur sighed, shivering slightly in his ragged cloak. A small light seemed to go off in Aerik’s head as he quickly began digging around in the pockets of his armor, procuring the key he had stolen off the mage earlier. 

“Here’s hoping,” he mumbled. He inspected the cuffs for a moment before locating the small keyhole. The stolen key slid in and clicked satisfyingly, releasing Nilandur’s hands. 

“Brilliant,” the high elf sighed. He flexed and rubbed at his wrists for a moment before making a complex hand gesture. A massive golden light erupted from his arms, seeming to radiate from his entire being. Color and vibrancy returned to his face, his skin regaining its golden glow. Even Teldryn felt the effects of the healing spell, his joints loosening and the soreness of several fresh bruises fading.

“Wow,” was all Aerik could manage. “What… kind of spell was that?” Nilandur smiled and Teldryn could see Aerik in his face. 

“I suppose an equivalent would be… Guardian Circle?” he offered enigmatically. He began to don the elven armor Aerik had picked out for him. “Now, you said you’d explain why exactly you’ve freed me, I believe? I’m not simply being transferred from one prison to another, am I?” 

“I doubt we would have removed your manacles if that were the case,” Teldryn drawled with a scoff. Nilandur looked over at him as he strapped his chest plate into place, his eyes crinkling with amusement. 

“Fair point. Forgive my suspicion in the presence of two, apparently quite lethal, masked strangers.”

“We won’t hurt you unless you give us reason to,” Aerik assured, crossing his arms. “But we should probably get to safety first and foremost before we explain anything.”

  
  


It was nearly midnight by the time they arrived in Dragon Bridge. The three trudged wearily into the Four Shields Inn, half-frozen from their nighttime hike through the northern rim. Nilandur quickly shuffled over to the fire, removing his gauntlets and holding his hands up to the blaze to warm them. Aerik watched him distantly, face still obscured by his mask. 

“I’ll get us some rooms, love,” Teldryn muttered lowly as he passed his husband, squeezing his shoulder. “And some food.” He reached up to remove his ebony helmet, resting it on his hip as he approached the counter. He felt eyes on his back, unsure if they belonged to the last of the patrons or Nilandur. The innkeeper looked exhausted, but smiled warmly at Teldryn as he approached. 

“Welcome, traveler. Looking for rooms for the evening?” 

“Two, yes: one for my husband and myself, and one for our traveling companion. As well as any hot food you may have.”

 

Teldryn handed over the allotted coin and moved to sit at one of the long tables, his back to the wall. Nilandur wandered over to sit as well, facing Teldryn. 

“A Dunmer!” he exclaimed, but without malice. “I have to admit, not quite what I was expecting.” Aerik hesitantly wandered over to sit next to his husband, finally pulling down his hood and removing his mask. His face was red where it had been exposed to the cold, but his eyes shone brightly in the low light. Teldryn could see the tension in his expression. Nilandur seemed to study Aerik’s face for a moment, confused and slightly thoughtful. 

“I thought that Nord prisoner said you were a high elf,” he said after a moment. The innkeeper walked over then, setting down several steaming bowls of beef stew, a plate of baked potatoes, and some grilled leeks. Nilandur looked at the two men as if asking for permission. 

“Please,” Teldryn gestured. “Eat.” The Altmer needed no more instruction, quickly forking the leeks and crunching into them with the desperation of a man starved. 

“I think he assumed my heritage based on my eye color,” Aerik explained carefully as Nilandur ate, his tone measured and even. 

“Yes, quite unusual, that,” Nilandur agreed after chewing and swallowing his food primly. “I hate to keep pressing the issue, but I’m still incredibly curious as to why you risked your lives to rescue me, specifically, from a Thalmor prison in Skyrim.”

 

Aerik looked to Teldryn for support, who nodded and placed a hand on his thigh beneath the table. The man took a deep breath. 

“Do you remember a woman named Brea Havardr?” Nilandur paused mid bite, setting his utensils down slowly. He finished chewing and swallowed thickly, looking at Aerik with an expression of both suspicion and hope. 

“Did… did she send you?” he asked in a hushed tone. “Is she yet alive?” Aerik’s eyes dropped quickly to the table and Nilandur sighed, resting his head in his hands. 

“I had hoped…” he began, voice watery. “…that I might see her again. The lives of men are too short,” he lamented, folding his hands in front of him and looking back up. “When did she pass?” 

“About six years ago,” Aerik replied softly, still avoiding the Altmer’s eyes. “She… she had a son.” Nilandur didn’t speak, eyes still trained on Aerik’s downcast face. A creeping realization seemed to slide across the mer’s features, the color draining from his cheeks. 

“Did she?” he whispered, sitting stock-still. Aerik looked at him then, golden eyes flickering in the firelight of the long hearth. Nilandur covered his mouth with both hands, long fingers sliding down and over his chin before forming a steeple beneath his jaw. 

“And you’re…?” he began, slightly breathless, eyes unfocused. Aerik nodded slowly and Teldryn squeezed his thigh in reassurance. 

“Her son. My name is Aerik. I’m half…” he coughed, struggling as his rising emotions constricted his throat. “I’m half Altmer,” he managed at last, and Nilandur seemed to deflate, slumping forward and burying his face in his hands. He sat like that for a long moment, shoulders shaking slightly. 

 

“Had I known,” he spoke at last, face still obscured. “Had I know she was with child… I would not have accepted. I would not have left…” he choked out. Aerik looked at Teldryn, his eyes wet and an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Did she hate me?” Nilandur asked after another long moment’s pause, looking up from his hands. Aerik picked at a splinter on the table. 

“She… didn’t really talk about you much,” he confessed. Nilandur nodded sadly, eyes red-rimmed but his cheeks otherwise dry. 

“How did you find me?” he continued, straightening up and clearing his throat. Aerik did the same, wiping roughly at his nose. Teldryn rolled his eyes half-heartedly at their shared mannerisms. 

“We got a tip from a friend of yours who heard you were heading to Skyrim with the Thalmor. We didn’t know you’d be one of their prisoners,” Teldryn supplied, giving Aerik a moment to collect himself. 

“What friend?” Nilandur asked, brow creasing. Aerik reached into his pack, pulling out the necklace Kalatar had given them. 

“His name was Kalatar,” he explained, handing the it across the table. “He told us to give you that.” 

 

Nilandur took the necklace in both hands, a look of stunned reverence on his face. 

“By the Gods, the past is coming back to haunt me on this night,” he whispered, turning the pendant over in his hand. It was a simple silver medallion with a dark black gem of some unknown origin in its center.   

“Why did the Thalmor take you as prisoner?” Teldryn interjected, changing the subject. Nilandur looked up at him, still clutching the pendant tightly. 

“I… can’t say I honestly know. I’ve been so removed from the world for the past forty odd years. The last I knew, the Thalmor were the ones that helped end the Oblivion Crisis.”

“How on Nirn did you manage to miss the entirety of the Great War?” Teldryn nearly laughed. “Have you been locked in a vault?” 

“Not at all,” Nilandur managed to chuckle, albeit wearily. “I’ve been on the island of Artaeum.”

 

Teldryn leaned back in his seat, eyes narrowing as he crossed his arms.  _ Artaeum _ . That sounded incredibly familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Aerik, however, lunged forward, splaying his hands out on the table. 

“You’re a Psijic monk!?” he shout-whispered, eyes so wide they were nearly fit to fall out of his head. Teldryn snapped to look at his husband, then at Nilandur, his own eyes widening. 

“I thought they had disappeared…” Teldryn mused under his breath. Nilandur looked nervously between the two of them. 

“My… order decided over one hundred years ago to withdraw from the material matters of this world, content to meditate and study the weave of magic in seclusion. However, they did not stop contacting those they saw fit to join. Even isolated monks know that stagnation breeds ignorance. I was living with Brea in Solitude when they reached out to me…” He drifted off, eyes focusing somewhere in the middle distance.

 

“Perhaps we should all turn in for the night,” Aerik spoke up after a long moment’s silence. “I want to know more, so… so much more, but it’s very late. We can continue on tomorrow refreshed.” Nilandur nodded somewhat torpidly. 

“I’ll show you to your room,” Teldryn offered, rising from his seat. The Altmer followed him silently across the longhouse, taking a plate of grilled leeks and potatoes with him.  

“And what role do you play in all this?” Nilandur asked, turning in the doorway of his room, one hand on the door. Teldryn crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side. 

“I have sworn my life to your son,” he smiled slightly. 

“As his guard?”

“As his husband,” Teldryn chuckled. Nilandur sputtered a bit, blinking dumbly in the very same fashion that his friend Kalatar had when he was given the same information. Teldryn wondered if it was a Summerset Isle thing, the unfamiliarity of two men being lovers.

“Forgive my presumption, then,” he said at last. “What is your name?” 

“Teldryn.” He offered his hand. Nilandur shook it numbly. 

“Thank you for saving me, Teldryn… I… shall see you both in the morning.” And with that the high elf quickly shut the door.

 

With a sigh Teldryn turned and walked back over to the table. Aerik had picked at his food, but otherwise left it abandoned. He picked up the remaining bowls of beef stew and brought them into the room he and Aerik were sharing, closing the door behind him. 

“Your father thought I was your guard…” he laughed hoarsely. Aerik was already shedding his thick leather armor, going through the motions as he stared distantly at the wall. 

“Are you alright?” Teldryn asked as he set the food down, not so much as an actual question, but more so as a means to gauge Aerik’s current mental state. The look the man gave him was answer enough. 

“Okay…” Teldryn soothed, removing his ebony gauntlets. “It’s been an incredibly exhausting day. Let’s just focus on sleep for now.” He walked over and took Aerik’s face in his own, kissing the man deeply. He heard Aerik whimper slightly, hands grasping at his still armored sided. They broke apart and continued to undress, stripping down to just their smalls. Aerik crawled into bed as Teldryn set about polishing his armor – a near nightly ritual if he could help it. By the time he finished, Aerik’s breathing had evened out, though his eyes still remained open. Teldryn climbed into bed beside him, wrapping the man up in his arms. 

“Sleep, love,” he rumbled against Aerik’s shoulder. 

“Easier said than done…” 

“Shall we breathe, then?” 

“Yes, please.”

 

Teldryn pulled Aerik against his chest as they rolled over onto their sides, his forehead resting against the back of the man’s neck. It was a practice they had established after returning from Solstheim, when they would both find themselves ripped from sleep, the inky tendrils of Hermaeus Mora’s nightmares creeping back into the shadows, screams trapped in their throats.  Slowly, they matched their breaths, breathing deeply and steadily, chests expanding and contracting in tandem. Teldryn felt Aerik soon fall out of rhythm, succumbing to his own pattern as he drifted to sleep. Feeling slightly hypocritical, Teldryn lay awake for a bit longer, listening to his husband’s breath and thinking about the implications of the Thalmor capturing a Psijic monk. He couldn’t help but feel that they’d stumbled onto something bigger than what it appeared to be on the surface. Finally relinquishing his mind, he let himself drift off, thoughts wandering to morning time in their house in Whiterun before sleep took him.

 

 

///

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the support, both here and on tumblr! You guys are so awesome and you make me feel less weird for how completely smitten I am with The Elder Scrolls.   
> The story really hits the ground running after this chapter, so buckle the fuck up.


	4. Dwemer Inquiries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! I love you, beautiful readers.   
> My updates, though I'm trying to keep them spaced to a week, are turning out to be more frequent. As of right now I'm failing to see a downside.   
> Anyhoo, enjoy!

Teldryn awoke first, as usual. Aerik slumbered fitfully beside him, a light sheen of sweat coating his bare chest. Teldryn leaned down to kiss him firmly against his temple, producing a sigh and a low murmur, before swinging his legs off the bed and performing some of his morning stretches. He dressed quickly, choosing to don his full armor before walking out into the main room. He was surprised to see Nilandur already awake and sitting by the fire in one of the rigid wooden chairs. Teldryn pulled up a seat beside him, startling the mer out of his thoughts.

 

“Oh!” he exclaimed, brushing his long, white-blond hair out of his face. “You’re quite, eh… stealthy.”

“It has its benefits,” Teldryn nodded thoughtfully. “Did you sleep well?” 

“I… had a lot on my mind,” he confessed, looking guilty. “Is… Aerik still asleep?” he asked, his own son’s name unfamiliar on his tongue. Teldryn nodded. 

“I think we all slept lightly.”

“What does today hold for us then?” Nilandur pressed. Teldryn shrugged, leaning back in his chair. 

“I’ll wait until Aerik joins us, but I think our first line of business should be to figure out why exactly the Thalmor are interested in you. Did they say anything at all?”

“No,” Nilandur shook his head, gaze returning back to the fire. “Just the standard threats. I had barely set foot in Daggerfall before I was black-bagged and thrown into the back of a cart. They didn’t take the hood off my head until we were over the border. I’ll tell you, it sure was a lovely ‘welcome back to society’ after leaving the island.” 

“And why did you leave?” Teldryn pried, possibly rudely, but he didn’t care. Nilandur shifted in his seat, fiddling with the tattered edge of the rags he wore beneath the stolen armor.

“Do you want the honest answer?” he asked, a slightly mischievous look on his face. Teldryn smirked, motioning for him to continue. 

“I’m just not cut out for the monastic lifestyle… Not for the long-term at least. Not like that.” Teldryn let out a barking laugh, startling the high elf slightly. 

“Well, there’s no doubt that Aerik is your son…” he laughed, a deep rumbling chuckle, coaxing a small tittering laugh out of Nilandur.

 

“Excuse me,” came Aerik’s voice from behind them. Teldryn turned to see him smirking at the two elves, half-dressed in his armor. “It’s rude to speak of someone behind their back.” 

“Forgive me, love,” he grinned, leaning his head back to allow Aerik to plant a kiss on his lips. Nilandur cleared his throat beside them, causing both of them to look over. A severe blush had crept up the high elf’s neck and he looked incredibly uncomfortable. 

“I’m… forgive me. In Summerset Isle it is… not common to see… two men… Much less of two different races. Your mother was a scandal enough...”   
“Ohh,” Aerik raised his eyebrows in understanding, his hands resting on Teldryn’s shoulders. 

“So it  _ is _ a high elf thing,” the Dunmer mused, smirking up at his husband.

“Is this common in Skyrim?” Nilandur asked, gesturing between them, seeming both curious and slightly embarrassed. 

“Oh yeah,” Aerik grinned. “It’s a total free-for-all in this country.” Teldryn began to rise from his seat, shaking his head with a smile. 

“And you’re an eligible bachelor now, too,” Teldryn added, relishing in Nilandur’s discomfort. 

“Now that’s… that wasn’t…” He stood, dusting his lap off, flustered. “What’s our plan for today?” he asked instead. Aerik chuckled at the interaction, but Teldryn noticed the weariness that lingered around the corners of his husband’s eyes. 

 

“Well, I was thinking… You’re not actually the first Psijic monk I’ve met.” It was Nilandur’s turn to raise his eyebrows. 

“What? How is that possible? Who have you met?” 

“Uhh…” Aerik scratched his head. “I’m kind of bad with names, but it was definitely… high-elf-sounding. Nevrin? Nerein?”

“Nerein! Why, he was the one that dealt with the… Eye of Magnus. Of  _ course _ ,” Nilandur nearly smacked himself in the face with his revelation. “ _ That’s _ where I’d heard of the modern Thalmor before!” 

“What exactly were they trying to do with The Eye?” Aerik pressed, stepping closer to his father. 

“As far as we could tell, they were trying to use its intense magical connection to the Weave to set in motion a chain of events that were still unclear, even to us. But it was a massive undertaking. Something that would have large-scale, time altering consequences. It was one of the rare moments in which the Order came together and agreed to intervene. I think it is, perhaps, for that very reason that I became a target once I stepped foot off the island.”  

 

“Pardon,” Teldryn interrupted. “But what do you mean when you say ‘the weave’? I’m unfamiliar with that phrase.” Nilandur nodded in understanding. 

“The Psijic Order does not practice magicka in the same way the modern world does. We adhere to the Old Ways – when we were much more closely connected to the Gods. We tap into the very fabric of magical energy itself. We call it the Weave. Of course this takes years of isolated study and practice…”

 

Aerik was frowning at Teldryn, wearing one of his expressions that said he was close to an answer, but not nearly close enough. 

“We need to find a Thalmor agent that we can get talking. Someone high up, perhaps…” 

“Oh, lovely idea. Let’s find a high-profile justiciar and, what? Kidnap them?” Teldryn derided, but Aerik didn’t look nearly chastised enough.    

“Not a bad idea,” he said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. Teldryn bristled, uncrossing his arms.

“It is a  _ very _ bad idea, Aerik,” he growled. “I thought you knew my sarcasm better by now.”

“There was a guy in Markarth who was  _ pretty chatty _ last time I spoke to him…”

“You think we’d be able to get him to give up classified information though?” Nilandur piped up. 

“Oh, not you too!” Teldryn threw his hands up in exasperation, walking away from the pair. 

“Only one way to find out,” Aerik chuckled with a wolfish grin, locking eye with Teldryn. 

“You’re both idiots.”

 

///

 

Markarth always made Teldryn feel uncomfortably damp. The tumbling water that ran through the city churned against the rocks, creating a perpetual mist that soaked into his under armor and left him chilled to the bone. He made a disgruntled noise when he accidentally stepped into a puddle as the three men marched their way through the city. It was dusk by the time they arrived, weary and battle-worn. The Forsworn had made their journey through the Reach unpleasant at best. Teldryn had half a mind to suggest they rest for the evening, but knew better than to interrupt Aerik’s single-minded focus. They were heading for Understone Keep. 

 

“Can either of you produce invisibility?” Nilandur asked as they climbed what felt to be the hundredth flight of steps. Aerik and Teldryn both shook their heads. The elf sighed. 

“Well, at least you’re both fairly stealthy,” he mumbled. “I’ll take care of his guards if you two feel like you can confidently capture him.” 

“I think we can handle one snotty Thalmor,” Aerik rolled his eyes, but Nilandur gave him a stern look, halting their climb. 

“One thing I cannot stress enough is to  _ never _ overestimate your own capabilities. Humility will keep you alive,” he chastised, and Teldryn couldn’t help but agree, but Aerik looked sullen. 

“Fine, we’ll be careful. Do you remember my directions to the entrance to Nchuand-Zel in case we get seperated?”

“Yes, Aerik,” Nilandur sighed, looking impatient. Aerik put his hands up in a defensive gesture.

“Hey, I’m just making sure you’re not overestimating your own capabilities,” he sneered and Teldryn jabbed him in his side, smiling. 

“Enough. Let’s keep moving.” 

 

Understone Keep loomed before them, a massive structure set into the rock of the very hillside, water cascading through carefully carved channels. Angular Dwemmer faces stared down at them with hollow eyes – the look of a dead race. The Nords had moved in and inhabited this city like some kind of parasite, moving into the discarded, crumbling shell of what was surely once a grand and prosperous city.  

“Can you imagine what this place must have looked like when the Dwemer still lived here?” Teldryn mused under his breath, just loud enough for Aerik to hear. 

“I really can’t…” Aerik sighed. 

 

The sun had officially set, leaving the city cold with its disappearance. They climbed the final stretch of worn, stone steps and approached the massive metal doors of the Keep. The outer guards were no longer at their post, having retired for the night. Teldryn secured his ebony helmet, Aerik keeping his face uncovered for the time being. They pushed into the keep, walking in as if they had business with the Jarl. The guards inside leaned heavily against the wall as they flanked the entryway. They straightened slightly as the trio walked past, nodding in recognition to Aerik. 

“We’ll have to do something about them on our way back out,” Aerik murmured to his companions. 

“I can put them to sleep, given they aren’t secretly adept mages,” Nilandur assured. Aerik laughed softly. 

“Considering they’re Nords they’ll be out like a candle in the wind…” 

 

They climbed the steps that lead up to the Jarl’s throne, quiet and determined, veering to the right at the top. It was another few paces through a deserted hall when they came to the Thalmor’s chambers. The door was locked. Aerik crouched down quickly, extracting his trusty ring of lockpicks and well-worn tension wrench. After a few moments, all three heard the audible and satisfying click of a door unlocking. Quickly securing his hood and facemask, Aerik slowly and carefully he pushed the door open just a sliver.

 

From where Teldryn stood he could see two bored guards in elven armor sitting at a long table and a sleeping form sprawled out across a stone bed in the back of the room. Fires burned lowly in the sconces on either side of the entryway, leaving them little cover for entering the room unnoticed. Aerik looked up at Nilandur, who nodded silently, moving in front and pushing the door open slightly further. He once again began to initiate a series of complex hand gestures, but different from the ones they’d seen him make outside the fort. It almost looked as if he was plucking strings or rearranging pegs – each movement was precise and calculated. A hazy red light began to burn in the space where his fingers whittled, forming the figure of a small rabbit. He cupped it out of the air as though it were a living thing and set the illusory creature down onto the floor. Teldryn watched in awe as it scampered into the room as if real, though silent and unseen by the guards. It bounded playfully around their feet, weaving in and out of the chair legs. The first guard fell forward onto the table with a metallic thunk as his helmet hit the stone, the other guard tipped his head back, mouth falling open as he lost consciousness still sitting upright in his chair. The rabbit stood on its hind legs, looking towards the door, before dissolving into thin air. 

 

Teldryn and Aerik exchanged glances before pushing further into the room. The figure on the bed hadn’t stirred. Aerik’s palms began to swirl with green energy as they rounded the table silently. He released his spell on the Thalmor’s turned back, the paralysis taking effect immediately. The figure went rigid, arms glued to his side. Teldryn quickly strode over and covered the elf’s head with a sack. They threw an extra fur over top the rest of him before he and Aerik hoisted the mer’s weight between the two of them, carrying him out of the room like a piece of timber. They moved quickly and confidently, hoping that any outsider might not think to question their cargo. The Keep was quiet at this time of night, which worked to their advantage. 

 

They hovered outside the main archway as Nilandur summoned his spectral rabbit once again, freeing it to bound silently over to the two guards who greeted them upon entry. They heard swords and shields clatter to the ground followed by the heavy thud of bodies hitting the floor. Silently, they carried on, making a sharp left out of the arch to head towards the Dwarven ruins. Teldryn glanced back at the unconscious guards, mind burning with curiosity, slowly coming to an understanding of why exactly the Thalmor might want someone like Nilandur under their control. 

 

Aerik picked the lock to the entrance of Nchuand-Zel quickly and efficiently. They pushed into the old ruins and sealed the door shut behind them. Heavy silence hung around them like a thick blanket. The entry room was in a state of frozen collapse, half toppled pillars jutting precariously out over their heads as they shuffled forward. A massive statue of a Dwarven Sphere looked down at them threateningly as they passed through the first arch. 

“Hold for a moment,” Aerik whispered, setting the Thalmor’s feet down. “I have to recast the spell. I feel him starting to sag a little.”

“How far in are we going to take him?” Nilandur asked in a hushed tone. 

“Far enough for him to not be able to find his way out,” Aerik growled. He roughly pulled the sheet off the prone Thalmor’s form before digging around in his pack and extracting the silver manacles they had found on Nilandur. 

“Nnng…” the Altmer groaned from under the hood as Aerik forced his hands into the cuffs, locking them into place. He quickly cast the paralysis spell once more and the mer went rigid. They wordlessly picked him up and carried on. Teldryn couldn’t help but notice the concerned look on Nilandur’s face as they climbed through a collapsed wall.

 

The excavation site spiraled downwards, deep into the earth. Teldryn’s arms were beginning to burn with strain when he heard something – a squelching, shuffling sound. 

“Hold,” he whispered harshly, causing Aerik and Nilandur to halt in their tracks. Each strained their ears against the deep silence of the cavern. They all heard it. 

“Spider,” Aerik whispered, motioning to set the Altmer down off to the side. 

“Stay with him,” Aerik commanded to Nilandur, who simply nodded curtly, as he and Teldryn began to creep along the jagged wall of the tunnel, near silent. 

 

The shuffling continued as the two peered around the corner. A massive frostbite spider was pacing the bend of the tunnel, still unaware of their presence. Aerik held a finger to his mask, readying his bow and silently nocking an arrow. The tension was palpable as he drew the bow taut, the spider pausing for just a moment before it turned to look in their direction. The arrow flew, piercing the creature in the side of its head with a sickly squelch. The force of the arrow knocked it against the wall slightly before it collapsed, a pile of limbs. 

“There are most likely more up ahead,” Teldryn murmured near Aerik’s ear, who simply nodded in response as they began to creep stealthily forward.

 

Three more frostbite spiders later, Aerik and Teldryn were trudging back to where they had left Nilandur with the Thalmor. The Altmer sat on and overturned bucket, looking rather somber. 

“All clear,” Aerik piped. “Are you okay?” Nilandur looked up at them, then over at the paralyzed Thalmor. 

“I… am having trouble reconciling the way we’re going about all this. It goes against everything I stand for…” he looked down at his feet despondently. Aerik walked over and put a firm hand on his shoulder. 

“If there’s ever a moment where you feel as though we’ve crossed a line, you can speak up, but  you weren’t around for the war. You don’t know what the Thalmor did… ” Aerik broke off. His eyes were hard beneath his hood. Teldryn knew the man had to have been merely a child when the war started, but certainly no less impacted by its reach. Nilandur nodded solemnly. 

 

Aerik recast paralysis one last time and he and Teldryn hefted the rigid weight of the mer between the two of them, carrying on. They stepped over the strewn corpses of the frostbite spiders, weaving their way deeper into the excavation. After several more twists and turns, the dank earth undulating around them, pressing in and bowing out, the tunnels finally opened up into a large, cavernous room with a set of classical Dwemer metal doors up a set of stairs on the opposite side.  

“This is probably good,” Aerik grunted as he and Teldryn set the Thalmor down. “Remove his hood.”

 

Teldryn swiftly pulled the sack off the Altmer’s head. Though the paralysis spell was still in effect, he blinked rapidly as his eyes were once more exposed to light. His long, slender face was contorted in a look of anger, eyes darting between the three figures that hovered above him. Then his eyes shifted, looking somewhere over Aerik’s shoulder, and widened in abject horror. Both Aerik and Teldryn whipped around, looking upwards into the darkened dome of the cavern’s ceiling. 

 

Slowly, long, hairy legs began to unfurl, stretching down into the low light of the Dwemer torches. The spider had to be nearly five times the size of the ones they had fought earlier, easily dwarfing even the stoutest of Skyrim’s horses. 

“Shit…” Aerik hissed under his breath, grabbing the mer by his cloaked shoulders and dragging him back into the mouth of the tunnel as the massive spider finished its descent. 

 

Teldryn wasted no time, wreathing himself in a flame cloak before charging the beast, hurling fireball after fireball in its face. It screamed in the way only frostbite spiders can - a nightmarish, high-pitched squeal like a wet log crackling and hissing on a hot fire. Despite the barrage of attacks, the thing seemed unaffected, wheeling on Teldryn and spewing its signature venom in a calculated arch. The Dunmer didn’t have time to dive out of the way, the acidic poison splashing across the front of his ebony armor, leaking through the cracks and sending an almost electric-cold jolt of pain through his bloodstream. He cried out, taking a knee and immediately casting restoration, anything to chase away the bone cold ache of the venom. Nilandur had begun his wild hand movements once again, his magic swirling in the air above them, a hazy, purple glow beginning to form above the spider. The glow descended around the beast, causing it to shudder and scream, thrashing against the spell and backing away from the party. Aerik seized the moment, taking advantage of the spider’s distracted state. He sprinted forward, ebony swords in hand. He ducked down beneath the massive creature then lunged upwards, thrusting both swords into the underside of the spider’s head, black blood gushing out of the puncture wounds like a geyser. 

 

After the spider stopped twitching, Aerik pulled his swords back, letting the giant beast fall to the ground, shaking the floor of the cavern as it landed. A brief silence passed between the party, the soft sounds of heavy breathing echoing off the high walls. 

“Well,” Aerik said with a casual sort of finality. “That was exciting.”

 

The Thalmor was beginning to twitch and writhe in the entrance of the tunnel, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. Teldryn still felt a little sore and weak from the frostbite venom, but quickly extinguished his flame cloak and got to his feet, brushing himself off. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” he grumbled, following Aerik to pick the Thalmor agent back up. 

“Hnng… rrr… mnr…” the elf struggled to speak through the spell, expression slowly returning to his face. 

“The spell should wear off a bit more in the next few minutes. We should restrain his feet,” Aerik suggested as they set him down in front of the large Dwemer doors at the back of the room, alongside the body of a dead Imperial that Nilandur eyed sadly. The Thalmor made a startled sound as he eyed the body out of the corner of his eyes. Teldryn procured a length of rope from their pack and began to bind the Altmer’s sluggishly twitching feet. He stood up, feeling the creak in his joints as he did. 

“Who… are...” the elf spoke, slow and slurring the way a drunk might. “Who are… you…?” 

“Do you really think a question like that will receive an answer?” Teldryn grumbled as Aerik moved to kneel next to the Thalmor. 

“ _ We _ ask the questions. You most likely have the answers. If you cooperate you might make it out of here alive.” Aerik spoke lowly, not necessarily distorting his voice, but it certainly wasn’t his usual merry tone. Nilandur shifted uncomfortably behind Teldryn. He turned to see the ex-monk picking nervously at the edges of his elven armor. He caught the mer’s gaze and gave one, definitive shake of his head in hopes of calming his nerves.

“Do you… have any idea what you’ve done?” the Thalmor slurred, his control over his voice growing steadily. “Do you have any idea who I am? My absence will be noticed. You’re all fools…” 

“Yes. Your name is Ondolemar. You’re head of the Justiciars here in Skyrim,” Aerik shrugged. “But we don’t really care.” Teldryn’s eyes widened slightly behind his helmet. Aerik hadn’t mentioned the bastard being the gods damned  _ head _ of the Justiciars, but, of course, leave it to the man to omit incredibly crucial information. 

“Who are you?” the elf spat again, beginning to sit up. “And where did you get these?” he motioned with his cuffed hands, the silver mechanisms clinking quietly. 

“Don’t you recognize them?” Aerik asked, and Teldryn could hear the smile in his voice. Ondolemar narrowed his eyes. 

“Of course I recognize them. You clearly stole them,” he clipped.

“What do the Thalmor want with the Psijic Order?” Aerik deflected, throwing the mer off. His expression shifted into one of confusion before schooling into a mask of indignation. 

“If you think you’ll get information out of me, you’re sorely mistaken. Torture me however you want…”

“Oh we won’t torture you,” Aerik said, getting to his feet. “We don’t stoop so low as to copy Thalmor tactics.” This got a slight huff out of Ondolemar. “But we will leave you down here.”

“Like I said, my absence will be noticed.”

“Of course, serjo,” Aerik purred, and Teldryn couldn’t help laughing at his use of Dunmer formality. Ondolemar seemed to bristle even more at that. “We’re not saying you won’t be missed. But…” He walked over to the large metal doors, pulling one open. From the depths of the halls came the distinct, rasping scream of a Falmer. Ondolemars eyes grew wide, panicked. 

“You wouldn’t…” he hissed. Aerik let the door close, keeping it quiet. 

“What a dishonorable way to die,” he sighed. “Torn limb from limb by the Falmer deep in a dwarven ruin, far from your homeland.”

“And betraying my oath is somehow more honorable?” Ondolemar spat, beginning to squirm a little bit. 

“Oh, serjo, are you going to sit here and tell me you’re concerned with honor?” Aerik laughed, slowly walking back and forth in front of the mer. Ondolemar’s eyes followed him for a moment, unsure, before he finally spotted Nilandur very nearly hiding behind Teldryn, still wearing the stolen elven armor. 

“You,” he called out. “You’re going to stand by and be privy to this? As these thugs kidnap and threaten your superior? Have you no pride in your race? Are you really such a coward to bend to their will?” The mer’s face was darkening with anger. “You’d let them leave me for death? Force confidential information from my lips? I am your superior! You  _ swore _ to serve me! I am nearly a  _ god  _ compared to these maggots!” Ondolemar was nearly yelling by the time he finished, panting slightly with the effort. Behind the Dwemer door a Falmer’s cry could be heard, closer this time. Aerik shook his head, waggling a finger at Ondolemar. 

“Might want to be a little quieter,” he whispered, turning back to look at Nilandur. The mer’s face was pale, eyes darting nervously. 

 

“What do you mean?” he spoke, surprising both Aerik and Teldryn. Ondolemar blinked, confused. Nilandur stepped forward, clearing his throat. 

“What do you mean you’re a god compared to them?” he asked again. Ondolemar laughed, a breathy, high pitched sound.

“My dear child,” he patronized, leaning forward a bit, manacles clinking. “Do you not understand your potential?  _ Our _ potential? Did you don that armor without even knowing the sweet rewards that await you upon our success. The only thing holding us back from returning to the gods we’re meant to be are these  _ disgusting, _ tainted races of men,” he spat, looking directly at Aerik. Teldryn smiled behind his helmet.  _ Of course _ , he thought to himself.  _ Get him bragging; get him talking. _

“Just Altmer, or all races of mer?” Teldryn prompted, causing Ondolemar to give him a nasty, knowing look.  _ Perfect _ . 

“That’s the type of idiotic question only a Dunmer would ask,” he sneered. “I recognize your accent. You’re nearly as bad as the humans, you know. A filthy, god-cursed race. The Bosmer, as savage as they might be, at least retain the pride of their original ancestors. There is no place for you among us when we shirk this mortal visage. It’s not our concern if you’re destroyed alongside them.” 

 

“So that’s what you’re trying to do, then?” Aerik spoke finally. “You’re trying to wipe out the races of men and regain some kind of... godhood?” Ondolemar’s face paled, his mouth snapping closed. He looked at his feet indignantly, a scowl set deeply into his face. 

“Oh, come on, you’re gonna clam up now? You were doing so good!” Aerik laughed, walking over and jerking Ondolemar’s chin up to look at him. “Leave it to a high elf to give away all his secrets simply to feel superior. A beautiful, fatal flaw…” he murmured, tucking one of Ondolemar’s long, white strands of hair behind his perfectly pointed ear. The mer curled his lip in a snarl before his expression shifted into something akin to recognition. Slowly, he began to smile, an incredibly unsettling change in demeanor. 

“I know you…” he taunted lowly. “I’d recognize those eyes anywhere.” Aerik’s posture stiffened, but he didn’t move, didn’t back away. 

“I’m flattered you like my eyes so much,” he growled, viciously releasing Ondolemar’s chin and stepping away from him. 

“You’re that loud-mouthed Nord from Solitude, aren’t you? Do your companions know about what you did for me? That you’re no more than a petty  _ thief _ ?” he laughed, clearly feeling as though he had regained the upper hand. 

“Oh, I’m a more than  _ just _ a petty thief,” Aerik shot back, hackles raised. 

“Sera…” Teldryn warned, causing Aerik to look at him, jarred by the formality. “Focus.”

“He stole an amulet of Talos for me. Condemned a man to death,” Ondolemar laughed, his head tipping back to rest against the stone wall. “You were just so  _ desperate _ for money. I’ve never seen a Nord so eager to betray his own before. I probably could have payed you ten septims to suck me off and you wouldn’t have thought twice...” Aerik wheeled around, stomping towards the elf, hands crackling with electricity. Ondolemar’s smile was manic as Aerik raised one of his hands. 

“Stop!” 

 

Nilandur’s voice echoed off the vaulted ceiling of the cavern as the mer stepped forward. Aerik was still fuming. Teldryn could see his chest heaving with restrained fury as he held one hand aloft, crackling wildly with magicka. Nilandur put a soft hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. 

“Do not let them turn you into something you’re not,” he whispered hoarsely. Aerik lowered his hand, posture slumping as the electricity faded. He shrugged out from under Nilandur’s grip and walked away from the two Altmer. Ondolemar was still smiling in smug satisfaction as he watched the man retreat. Nilandur knelt beside him, causing his smile to falter slightly. Slowly, Nilandur reached up and took his elven helmet off. Teldryn made a concerned noise.

“Is that wise?” he asked, taking a step forward. Nilandur looked back at him, his expression stopping Teldryn in his tracks, before turning back to Ondolemar. He placed a hand on the mer’s shoulder, looking into his eyes. 

“How will we return to godhood, brother?” he asked lowly. Aerik’s head snapped to look at the pair. 

“Are you serious!?” he yelled, beginning to stride angrily over to the pair. Teldryn held an arm out to stop him. 

“Look,” he whispered harshly. Aerik did. 

 

Ondolemar’s eyes had clouded over slightly, a light greenish haze swirling around his head, emanating from where Nilandur’s hand touched his shoulder. He smiled at Nilandur as though the man were an old friend. 

“The Towers…” he said enigmatically. “One by one, they have fallen. Few remain… but to bring them down… we cannot. We need more…” He seemed to struggle with his speech. 

“You need access to the Weave,” Nilandur supplied, and Ondolemar nodded, smiling dreamily. 

“Access…” Ondolemar sighed, eyes fluttering. “The Eye of Magnus was… within our grasp.” He grunted angrily. “The Psijics stole it… but at least with one, the Dragonborn will…” He seemed to fight momentarily against the spell before succumbing again.  “We have a chance to deactivate… The Snow Tower.” Ondolemar grimaced, groaning loudly and lolling his head side to side, prompting Nilandur to shush him. 

“You’ve done well,” he cooed. “You deserve to rest.” 

“Yes…” Ondolemar yawned, eyes falling closed. His chin hit his chest as the mer lost consciousness. Nilandur knelt by his side for a bit longer, hands moving in rapid movements. The green haze over Ondolemar’s head formed long, swirling tendrils that wove in and out of his temples. After a long moment, the green energy faded and Nilandur pushed off his knee to stand, turning to face Aerik and Teldryn. 

 

“Did any of that make sense to you?” he asked. Aerik was just staring at his father, eyes wide. 

“How… how did you do that?” he stuttered. Nilandur grimaced, avoiding his son’s eyes. 

“It is a type of magic that I do not value. Psychic manipulation… spells such as ‘calm’ and ‘fear’ are basic forms of this. He had to see me as a possible ally before I could use it successfully. I also… restructured his memory a bit. He will have trouble deciding whether or not these events actually happened or if he simply dreamt them.”

 

Teldryn and Aerik looked at each other, then back at Nilandur, who looked incredibly uncomfortable.

“Well… thank you,” Aerik exhaled. “And… as for what he was saying... It was all vaguely familiar, but none of it really made a lot of sense. Eye of Magnus… Dragonborn. I get those. But Snow Tower?” He stroked his masked chin thoughtfully, turning to Teldryn. “I think we may have to make a trip to Winterhold. If anyone is gonna have information on this it’ll be Urag.”

“Right. And what of our new friend here?” he jerked his head towards the sleeping Ondolemar. 

“Let’s just… drop him off back in his room.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nilandur is a precious cinnamon bun and we should all protect him. 
> 
> Thanks again for tuning in and reading my story! (〃‿〃✿) Stay beautiful.


	5. Night Falls on Sentinel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5, ahoy! 
> 
> This is a bit of a short one. I've started a new editing process, so my weekly updates may turn into more like... every-10-days updates, but I'm still managing to stay four chapters ahead of whichever once I'm posting. I just really want to up the quality of my writing and make sure that I'm refining and polishing every chapter I pump out. 
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH to everyone that's been leaving comments and kudos consistently! It really makes me happy. <3 Enjoy another installment!

.

 

They fled Markarth that same night after dropping the unconscious Ondolemar back into his quarters without fanfare. The two guards and Thalmor soldiers still slumbered deeply from Nilandur’s original spell as they crept around them and dashed silently out of Understone Keep.

“It’ll be at least three days on foot to get to Whiterun, and that’s if we haul ass.” Aerik planned out loud, rearranging the contents of his pack as they stopped to gather themselves outside the city walls. Teldryn glanced over longingly at the drowsy horses in the Markarth stables before gazing out across the darkened expanse of the Reach that stretched ominously before them. 

“Don’t you think it would be a better idea to find a safe place to set up camp for the night?” Teldryn desperately wanted to avoid confrontation with the Forsworn twice in one day. 

“Yes, but we should put some distance between us and the city first. Just to be safe,” Aerik reasoned, slinging his pack onto his shoulders and beginning to set off down the road. Teldryn sighed, looking to Nilandur, who looked exhausted at best. He clapped a hand against the Altmer’s shoulder.

“Off we go,” he mumbled, falling into step behind his husband. 

 

They traveled in a prolonged, somewhat tense silence for a little over half an hour, each preoccupied with the looming darkness that pushed in around them on all sides. No one dared to light a torch or cast magelight lest they draw unwanted attention. Teldryn silently thanked Azura for the massive moons that hung overhead, lighting their path. They steadily followed the sloping river southeast for another half hour, the sound of rushing water masking their footfall, before Aerik spotted a path that lead up into the hills. 

“A bird’s eye view of the road couldn’t hurt,” he reasoned needlessly in a low voice as they began to climb. The path lead to the entrance of a nasty looking cave. The trio skirted around the outcropping of rocks and put a safe distance between themselves and whatever might be inhabiting it. Aerik sat his pack down beneath a rocky overhang that would shelter them from possible ill weather, but also served to obscure them from view. They had a fairly good panorama of the main road down below, and Teldryn felt himself relax ever so slightly. 

 

“I’ll take first watch,” Aerik offered. “No fire tonight. Gotta lay low.” He rummaged through his pack for rations, tossing a strip of dried venizen to Nilandur. The elf looked at the meat with a creased brow, turning it over delicately in his fingers. 

“Not to be difficult, but do you possibly have something that didn’t come from an animal?” he asked hopefully. Aerik was already tearing into his own salted meats, Teldryn doing the same. They looked at each other, then back to the elf. 

“Do you not like meat?” Aerik asked, bewildered. Teldryn chuckled knowingly, taking another tearing bite out of his piece. 

Nilandur shifted nervously. “It’s… well, we don’t consume animal meat on the island. We eat only plants.” 

 

Aerik stared at his father, slack jawed for a long moment before turning to dig through his pack. “Uhh… I have… a couple of raw potatoes? And a carrot?” he offered sheepishly. 

Nilandur sighed. “I’ll take the carrot.” 

“You won’t get far in this country without eating meat, sera,” Teldryn warned with a laugh. “You’re in the Nord’s land. They run on meat, mead, and sex.” 

“Not a bad thing,” Aerik huffed, chomping down on his venizen with his back teeth and tearing a chunk off, chewing the stiff jerky like cud. 

Nilandur nibbled delicately on his carrot, an indignant expression crossing his face. “I’m sure I’ll be able to manage just fine, thank you.” He placed the carrot between his teeth and began to unfurl his bedroll. Teldryn and Aerik shared a look, laughing lowly, finishing off their snack and doing the same.

 

“Get some rest,” Aerik insisted to his father, setting up his post for first watch before plopping down to lean against a slanted rock facing the road. Nilandur nodded drowsily, curling into the bed roll and appearing to almost immediately lose consciousness.  

Aerik turned to look at Teldryn. “You too.” 

“You know I won’t be able to sleep,” Teldryn sighed, crossing his arms. “I’ll sit with you for a bit.”

“Uhg, how dreadful. The company of a handsome Dunmer.” Aerik grinned, patting the ground beside him. Teldryn kneeled with some effort, his armor restricting his range of motion. 

“Gonna sleep in your armor? Like old times?” Aerik asked lowly. They sat shoulder-to-shoulder, overlooking the road. Their three sleeping rolls were in a neat line behind them, huddled together and pressed up as closely to the rock outcropping as they could. Nilandur had taken the one to the far right, facing away from the other two.    
“Like old times,” Teldryn agreed, though ‘old’ was a bit subjective in his opinion. The night was quiet, the only sounds were that of the distantly rushing river and the soft scamper of nocturnal creatures in the underbrush. 

 

“What’s going on in that thick head of yours?” Teldryn asked after a long moment of silence had passed between them. Aerik chuckled lowly, tilting his head back to look up at the stars. Secunda was just barely visible, peaking over the darkened outline of the rocky overhang.

“It’s a lot to think about,” he sighed. “I always had my theories as to why the Thalmor were so insistent on getting Talos struck from the Divines, but I didn’t piece together the larger implications. I mean, to destroy all races of man? Do they not see how incredibly…  _ evil  _ that is? It’s comical. Almost out of a play. The hand-wringing villains bent on destroying the world.” Aerik sighed loudly. Teldryn just nodded, letting the man rant.

 

“I just wish I knew what to  _ do _ with this information, you know? How is this something I can stop? It’s been building for years apparently. Possibly even longer than we know.”

“You do have a slight advantage,” Teldryn said with a shrug. Aerik eyed him flatly. 

“If you say it’s because I’m the Dragonborn I’m going to smack you across your perfect cheekbones.”

Teldryn snorted “Perfect? I never knew you felt so strongly about my bone structure.”. Aerik bumped their shoulders together with a small smile. 

“Sorry, love, that’s pretty much what I was going to say,” Teldryn confessed. “But it is true.” 

“I know you’re right,” Aerik grumbled. “I just hate using it as a… a  _ crutch _ .”   
Teldryn scoffed. “It’s not a crutch! It’s a gift.” 

“Gift?” Aerik huffed in annoyance. “I thought you knew better than that by now.” He had picked up a twig and was drawing nonsensical patterns into the dirt. Teldryn sighed, knowing better than to argue the point. 

 

Suddenly he was overcome with an idea that made him groan aloud. 

“What?” Aerik chirped, looking up. 

“I just thought of something… And I doubt you’ll like the idea. I barely like it.” Teldryn stretched his legs out in front of him, removing his gauntlets and massaging his wrists - stalling. Aerik looked at him expectantly. 

“Clearly the Empire is under the Thalmor’s thumb right now, so they’re essentially useless to us as allies,” Teldryn began with a heavy sigh. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… I think we should take this information to Ulfric Stormcloak.” 

“Ulfric!?” Aerik laughed a little louder than he meant to, startling a rabbit from behind a tree. Teldryn gave him a stern look, checking over their shoulders before casting muffle. 

“Ridiculous, I know,” he mumbled. 

Aerik was shaking his head. “I feel like associating with Ulfric would bring more trouble our way than solve anything… and possibly create more enemies than allies. Especially among the Dunmer.” 

“Unless we could act as ambassadors - breaking down those barriers and establishing a common enemy. You heard Ondolemar. My race is  _ not _ part of the ‘re-ascension’ plan” Teldryn reasoned, despite himself. 

Aerik smirked, looking at him affectionately. “I love you, you know?” he murmured, leaning in for a kiss. Teldryn returned it happily with a low hum. 

“I’m aware.” He smiled as Aerik pulled back. “Am I insane for suggesting such a thing?” he asked sincerely, running a hand across his hair.

“Honestly, no.” Aerik sighed, leaning back against the rock. “Not when I really think about it. We should still go to the college. Talk to Urag. Possibly even the Augur.”

“Augur?” Teldryn screwed up his face in confusion.

Aerik just nodded sagely, continuing. “Yeah. A disembodied, enlightened ball of light living below the college. He’s dreadful for conversation, but surprisingly helpful.”

 

Teldryn laughed lowly, closing his eyes and rubbing his fingers across his face. “Never a dull moment, with you.”

“Glad to hear it.” Aerik beamed, teeth bright even in the dark. “Get some sleep. Seriously. I’ll wake you for second watch in a few hours.” 

“If you insist.” 

 

Teldryn leaned in to kiss his husband again, letting his lips linger for a bit longer, heart swelling with fondness. He pushed to his feet and stumbled over to his bedroll, leaving a space between himself and Nilandur. Sleeping in ebony armor was uncomfortable, but not nearly as bad as chitin, so Teldryn was able to doze lightly for a few hours before he felt Aerik tap him awake to take his shift. He spent the rest of the night listening to the hum of nocturnal creatures and insects in the thick forests of the Reach, senses on high alert and mind racing with possibilities, plans, theories, and outcomes for their predicament. He sighed heavily, looking up at the stars. The sky was beginning to lighten, dawn fast approaching. He looked back at Aerik and Nilandur, both appearing to sleep soundly. Come what may, he could at least say that, despite everything, he truly enjoyed his life. 

 

///

 

They were several miles from the Western Watchtower when three Thalmor agents found them.

 

Teldryn felt the prickle of his arm hairs beginning to rise- the charging of magicka, the tell-tale metallic taste of electrical energy rippling through the air. He opened his mouth to shout a warning to Aerik when the bolt hit him square in his back. The earth rushed up to meet him as he slammed hard against the unrelenting cobblestone, stars bursting behind his eyelids. He heard Aerik yell, high-pitched and panicked, as well as the sound of an armor spell being cast. Another bolt of electrical energy wracked his body, causing every muscle to contract violently, his back arching in the throes of pain. The spell stopped long enough for him to push to his feet, blinking wildly at the unfolding chaos. 

 

The Thalmor mages had descended upon them like wolves, firing spells and throwing up shields without room for anticipation or retaliation. Nilandur looked like a startled deer, completely thrown out of his element. He was halfway through weaving a spell when a bolt of chain lightning hit him square in the chest, knocking him backwards. Teldryn brought up a shield of his own as one of the agents attempted to hit him with another spell. The sparks dissolved against his ward and he took the chance to blindly lob a massive fireball at his attacker, praying to Azura that his flames hit their intended target. 

 

Aerik was sending wave after wave of lightning right back at the Altmer. He moved like a force of nature, dodging and ducking their offensive onslaught. Nilandur was back on his feet, building a thick, glowing barrier around himself as he began to charge the Thalmor, hands moving quickly, plucking and weaving the magicka straight out of thin air. 

“Teldryn!” Aerik shouted as he nimbly sidestepped a magical blast. “Get him out of the way!”

 

Without a second thought, Teldryn bull-charged the elf, knocking him onto his ass mid spell. He felt Nilandur gasp raggedly as his combined body weight and armor slammed him into the ground. 

“Sorry, sera,” Teldryn mumbled. Nilandur wheezed, pressing futilely against the plates of his armor. Not seconds later he heard Aerik inhaled deeply.    

“ _ VEN… GAAR NOS! _ ” 

 

A massive, whirling cyclone erupted from his mouth, tearing through the air towards the three agents and lifting them off the ground. The chaotic Shout sent them tumbling across the plane. One had their head dashed against a roadside boulder, either knocking them out or killing them instantly. Teldryn rolled off Nilandur and back onto to his feet, racing towards the two remaining Thalmor, fire already burning hotly in his palms. He inhaled sharply through his nose, pulling as much magicka as he had left to the surface, before casting his most powerful fire spell he knew. 

 

The elves screamed as the flames exploded around them, engulfing them and knocking them back to the ground after they had barely had time to stand. 

“More!” Aerik yelled, running to Teldryn’s side. He closed his eyes, trying to pull more of his magicka to the surface, grimacing as pain shot through his arms.

“ _ Arcuhn madir! _ ” Teldryn whispered harshly in his native tongue at Aerik to let him know his magicka was depleted. They often used Dunmeris as code. Aerik cursed, panting heavily for a moment as the two disoriented and fairly burnt elves staggered to their feet. 

“Okay… stand back. I think I have another in me,” he nodded, coughing raggedly once. Teldryn backed away, moving towards where Nilandur still sat, as Aerik took a long, deep breath.

 

“ _ YOL… TOOR SHUL!” _

 

Fire ripped through the air, the flames roaring like a dragon in their own right. Teldryn shielded his eyes against the heat, stepping slightly sideways to to block Nilandur from the blast. The two Thalmor did not scream this time, possibly still in shock from the last attack. Teldryn heard the sizzle and pop of burning flesh before he smelled it. It was a familiar, deeply cultural smell for him, but never less jarring to experience. He looked away from the burning corpses and over to his husband, who was bracing his hands against his knees, panting. Teldryn limped over, his extremities aching from extending his magicka beyond his capabilities. He still found the ability to pull warm, healing light into his palm as he pressed it against Aerik’s back.

“Heal yourself, you idiot,” he laughed hoarsely with a sideways smile, righting himself. 

“I’m fine,” Teldryn insisted, knowing that wasn’t entirely true. “We need to get to Whiterun. Now.”

 

Aerik nodded, looking over to his father who remained sprawled across the grass from when Teldryn had knocked him down. His eyes were as wide as saucers, white-blonde hair disheveled and stringy, one hand clutching his chest. 

“What  _ are _ you?” he finally managed. Aerik blinked at him, looking at Teldryn, then back to the Altmer. His own eyes went slightly wider. 

“Oh, shit,” he exclaimed softly. “I didn’t…” He trailed off, looking at Teldryn again. “I completely forgot to mention...” Despite his injuries, Teldryn began to laugh. It started low, just a chuckle, but soon he was nearly cackling, doubling over, hands on his knees. 

“You,” he wheezed. “You  _ forgot _ to mention that you’re the damn Dragonborn?” He fell into another bout of laughter that dissolved into a coughing fit. Aerik looked over at his father, concerned. Teldryn straightened up, still laughing slightly. 

“Surprise?” Aerik shrugged, which caused Teldryn to start laughing again, slightly delirious. He had to walk away from the pair.

 

“Dragonborn?” Nilandur repeated, slowly getting to his feet. “You mean,  _ you  _ were the one my fellow monks visited at the college?  _ You’re _ the Dragonborn?” he exclaimed, running a hand anxiously through his hair in an attempt to get it out of his face. Aerik nodded, eyes shifting nervously. Teldryn had finally stopped laughing, feeling incredibly exhausted as the rush of their encounter finally wore off. 

“Might I suggest we talk about it  _ after _ we’re safely behind Whiterun’s walls?” he asked impatiently and slightly breathless. 

“Teldryn’s right. We shouldn’t linger. I’ll explain as much as I can on the way,” Aerik smiled half-heartedly. Nilander only nodded numbly and they all fell into step once again.

 

 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duunnnn!   
> Tricksy Thalmor. 
> 
> I love you all! （´・｀ ）♡


	6. Rising Threat Vol. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'm gonna take longer between posts...  
> Also me: [ _posts the next chapter less than a week later_ ]
> 
>  
> 
> **CW: Sexual content!**

 

Teldryn had never been so happy to be home. Whiterun was bustling with the usual mid-afternoon traffic - peddlers, merchants, and citizens scurrying through the city, chattering and laughing, milling about the market stalls at the top of the hill. He breathed deeply, a small smile graceing his lips as he followed Aerik to their front door.

“Welcome to our humble abode,” Aerik offered, shooting a lopsided smile over his shoulder. Nilandur was looking around curiously, watching the children running past with a soft, fond expression.

“Such a lovely little town,” he commented as they stepped into Breezehome’s living room.

 

The door closed solidly behind them and it  felt like a weight had been lifted from Teldryn’s shoulders. He let out a loud sigh of relief, beginning to remove his bracers.

“My Thane?” Lydia appeared on the stairs in full armor. “I’m glad to see you’ve made it home safe.” Her eyes trailed to Nilandur, widening slightly. “Is this…?”

“My father,” Aerik finished, smiling proudly. Lydia nodded as she finished descending the stairs.

“Nilandur, meet my housecarl, Lydia. Lydia, meet my father, Nilandur. He’s… new in town,” Aerik finished lamely, earning an amused huff from Teldryn as he continued to shirk his armor. Lydia shook Nilandur’s hand, more firmly than the elf was expecting by his reaction.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you sir. Welcome to Whiterun. Or… to Skyrim, I suppose,” she amended, smiling sweetly.

“Housecarl?” Nilandur returned the smile, eyes darting to Aerik. “What… does that mean exactly?”

“I was appointed by the Jarl to serve and protect Aerik when he was given the title of Thane here in Whiterun,” she explained with a stony expression. Nilandur nodded politely.

“And… what’s a Thane?”

 

Teldryn couldn’t help but let out another laugh as he set his chest plate, bracers, and boots by the weapons rack near the cooking pit.

“It means the guards look the other way if I cause any trouble.” Aerik winked, causing Lydia to shoot him an annoyed glance.

“It’s an honorable title. It means he has served to protect the city and her people,” she corrected. Aerik rolled his eyes, beginning to walk up the stairs.

“We’re going to stay here for the evening, Lyds. Not to put you out, but would my father be able to use your room? I’ll put you up at the Bannered Mare. I’ll pay for food and everything.”

“Of course, my Thane. You don’t have to…”

“No, I insist,” Aerik interrupted, turning to look down at them from the top of the stairs. “Just let me get changed and I’ll be right back down.” He disappeared into the upstairs, footsteps trailing towards their bedroom.

 

“Are you hungry, sir? I can make you some food if you wish,” Lydia asked Nilandur, who nodded vigorously.

“Do you have anything… vegetable based?” he asked tentatively.

Lydia quirked an eyebrow curiously. “Of course!”

 

Teldryn just shook his head, amused, as he padded barefoot past the pair and jogging nimbly up the steps, circling around to follow Aerik. His husband was in the midst of removing his own armor, a distant look on his face.

“So, we’ll set out for Winterhold in the morning,” Teldryn began. “On horses?” Aerik shrugged, setting his leather chestplate on the bed.

“It would probably be fastest and easiest. And cheapest… not that we _need_ to pinch septims, but it never hurts.”

“We’ll have to buy your father a horse.” Teldryn sighed, moving to the opposite side of the bed and sitting down. “Unless you want to ride double.” Gods their bed felt comfortable. He lay back for just a moment, knowing he’d have to head downstairs momentarily.

“No, we can buy one. It’ll be fine. We can always sell it again once he’s done with it,” Aerik murmured, distracted. “I’m gonna head back downstairs. You staying up here for a bit?” He looked over finally, and his expression flattened as he took note of Teldryn’s arms.

“Tel… why didn’t you say anything?” he chastised softly, brow creasing with concern as he rounded the bed and sat down next to him.

“We needed to move along quickly,” Teldryn grumbled, letting his husband run a hand over his forearms. His veins were black and swollen from overextending his magicka, electrical burns winding across his skin to complement.

“Shirt off,” Aerik commanded. Teldryn complied with an exasperated sigh, tossing the thin linen onto the floor next to the bed. Aerik hissed sympathetically, restoration spell already glowing in his palms as he placed a hand on Teldryn’s chest. The burns were a bit more severe than he had originally thought, snaking across his torso and down his arms. They were most severe in the center of his back, a massive burn forming a sunburst pattern where the Thalmor’s spells had originally hit him, sure to leave a scar.

“I’m going to run downstairs and get some potions. Don’t move,” he ordered with a stern look.

“Suddenly you’re a damn priest of Kynareth…”

“Don’t. Move,” Aerik repeated as he strode out of the room. Teldryn let his head fall back against the pillow, sighing loudly. There was a dull pounding in his temples and a deep, throbbing ache in his extremities. He closed his eyes, listening to the distant murmur of voices and the metallic ping of the cooking pot being stirred. Aerik returned a moment later, two red bottled clinking together in his left hand, a blue one in his right.

“One now, one for later,” he explained needlessly, setting one of the red bottles on the bedside table before uncorking the other with his teeth and handing it to Teldryn. He drank it dutifully, grimacing at the taste.

“Roll onto your stomach,” Aerik said, setting the blue bottle off to the side. Teldryn obeyed, too tired to complain. He felt Aerik’s rough, warm hands run gingerly across the raw parts of his back quickly followed by the pleasant heat of a restoration spell.

 

Teldryn pillowed his head against his forearms, staring at the opposite wall. Silence lapsed between them, this routine more familiar than either of them would like to admit. Aerik hummed a low tune as he healed - a slow, melancholic lullaby that Teldryn had heard him sing before but had never bothered to ask the name. The ache in his arms and legs were beginning to ease up and he unconsciously sighed with relief. He felt Aerik shift, one hand leaving his back as he grabbed the blue bottle off the table, knocking it back to replenish his magicka.

“Just a bit more,” he mumbled. Teldryn grunted in response, eyes fluttering closed. He felt sleep tugging at the corners of his mind, pulling him towards darkness, to which he wasn’t quite ready to surrender. His body seemed lighter, as if Aerik’s magic was removing physical weight. He felt his husbands lips on the back of his neck, which pulled another sigh from his chest.

“Get some rest,” Aerik rumbled. Teldryn rolled onto his back to look up at him, eyes heavy. Aerik ran a hand over his bare chest fondly, smiling.

“Join me soon?” Teldryn asked, voice hoarser than he expected. He ran his hands along Aerik’s forearms, tracing the corded muscles beneath the skin. Aerik nodded, reaching up to brush Teldryn’s hair back before leaning down to kiss him on the lips, slow and gentle.

“I’m fine,” Teldryn grumbled after they pulled apart.

“I know,” Aerik insisted before getting up. “But it’s ok to ask for help every now and then, you stubborn old bastard.” Teldryn huffed, smiling despite himself and allowed his eyes to fall closed at last. He heard Aerik leave the room and shut the door behind him, the heel of his boots clacking loudly against their wooden floors as he made his way back downstairs.

 

Teldryn didn’t intend to fall asleep. His dreams were the kind one experiences during a light sleep, mind still close to the surface of the waking world - vivid flashes of color and nonsensical, non-sequitur events. He awoke quickly when he heard the door open, slightly startled and covered in a light sheen of sweat. The light coming in from the windows had faded significantly, but the sun wasn’t completely gone. If Teldryn had to guess it was probably early evening.   

“Here.” Aerik sat down on the bed again, handing him a tankard. “Water.” Teldryn sat up with some effort and grabbed the cup, not realizing just how thirsty he was until the water hit his tongue. He gulped it all down greedily, gasping loudly to his own ears, and handed it back to Aerik, wiping his mouth against his forearm.

“I bought a third horse. She’s at the stables with Skywise and Kahn. I’m gonna let Nilandur name her tomorrow.”

“That’s very sentimental of you,” Teldryn rumbled, coughing once before laying back down. Aerik looked troubled.

“Do you need that other potion?” he asked, smoothing Teldryn’s hair down again - a nervous habit he had adopted any time his husband was injured.

“I just need rest,” Teldryn assured.

 

Aerik was silent for a moment and Teldryn let his eyes fall closed again.

“I’m going to stay up for a bit longer. Lydia’s headed off to the Bannered Mare and I wouldn’t mind trying to talk to Nilandur a bit… explain the Dragonborn thing, ask for his opinion on Ulfric, and all that,” he explained softly. Teldryn nodded, eyes remaining closed.

“Have some father-son-bonding,” he mumbled.

Aerik laughed dryly. “If you could call it that.” He felt warm lips graze his temple before Aerik got to his feet, walking out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Teldryn fell almost immediately back into sleep, his dreams still feverish and indiscernible. Sometimes Hermaeus Mora would appear in his dreams: thousands of eyes gazing down at him, blinking sluggishly, as black, inky tentacles wriggled into his brain, slowly driving him mad.

 

He groaned loud enough to wake himself, coughing hoarsely as he rolled onto his side. He was still on top of the covers from when he’d first fallen asleep. With a bit of effort he climbed beneath them, hissing slightly at the pain in his back as he settled back in. It was completely dark out at this point; the city was quiet. He heard stoft footsteps on the stairs, two sets, followed by Aerik’s low voice mumbling goodnights. Teldryn cracked an eye open to see their bedroom door swing inwards, his husband’s tall silhouette padding quietly to his side of the bed.

“Did you have good bonding time?” Teldryn asked sleepily as Aerik removed his shirt and began to climb under the covers.

“Actually, yes.” He laughed in disbelief. “He’s very kind. I can see why mom fell for him. She always liked the softer types.”  

“An Altmer with a heart of gold. How precious,” Teldryn yawned, pulling Aerik towards him.  
“You’re, uh, older than my dad,” Aerik seemed to confess sheepishly, throwing an arm over Teldryn’s chest. Teldryn let out a low, deep chuckle.

“I can’t say I’m at all surprised,” He stretched his arms up over his head, voice thinning with the effort. “I’m older than most people I meet. Is that all you learned?”

“No.” Aerik huffed indignantly against Teldryn’s neck. “He’s very passionate about magic, of course, but he has a really different view of it. He was trying to explain it to me, but I was having a hard time following. Something about interconnectedness and whatnot. The Psijics sound really odd, but seeing his version of magic in action was certainly impressive. Even if he is shit at combat magic. It makes sense though, because there was no real need to study combat magic on the island. Monastic life sounded boring as hell…”    

 

Teldryn was beginning to nod off to the sound of Aerik’s voice, sleep pulling him down like an anchor.

“Are you asleep?” Aerik asked, jarring him awake.

“No, of course not,” Teldryn mumbled flatly. He felt Aerik’s lips brush his neck.

“Alright, fine. Old mer’s gotta get his rest.”

“You’re damn right he does,” Teldryn grumbled, turning onto his side to face Aerik, who dutifully shifted to press his back up against Teldryn’s chest.

“Goodnight, love,” he murmured into Aerik’s hair, wrapping his arm around his husband’s chest and pulling him close.

“Goodnight,” came the whispered reply.

 

///

 

Teldryn loved his horse.

Her name was Akulakahn, Kahn for short, and she was a true horse of Skyrim - big, sturdy, headstrong, and just a little mischievous. She nickered fondly from her stall as he approached, rich, golden coat gleaming in the early morning sun as she swayed her head side to side.

“There she is,” Teldryn declared affectionately, patting her neck and presenting a carrot in his other hand. Kahn nosed the treat with her soft muzzled before lipping the carrot into her mouth, crunching loudly. He patted her neck once more before waking to her side to saddle her up.

 

He never thought he’d want a horse, much less enjoy the company of one. They were animals of men, the Nords especially. But, very much like the Nords themselves, he suddenly found himself very attached to one. He secured his pack to the back of his saddle as Kahn craned her head around to look at him, nipping at his side.

“Excuse me, sera,” he chuckled, pushing her nose away. “Let’s not get greedy. You’ll get another when you’ve earned it.” She swished her tail impatiently and stomped a foot, turning her head back to the front with both ears flipped backwards.

 

“Saddled up yet?” came Aerik’s voice from across the stable. He was currently leading his horse, Skywise, out towards the road. The creature was a bit too green for Teldryn’s liking, but oddly compatible with Aerik. He was a high-strung dappled gray with long legs and wide eyes. Of the two, Kahn had more endurance, but Skywise was one of the fastest horses Teldryn had ever seen. The beast could _run_. Which Aerik loved to let him do. Skywise snorted warily at a bush, sidestepping it dramatically and making Aerik laugh.

 

Nilandur was currently having a quiet moment with his newly acquired mare. She was a gentle bay that seemed to be falling asleep between his hands as he stroked her face thoughtfully.

“You might want to wake her up,” Teldryn suggested as he lead Khan past the pair.

“She’s awake,” Nilandur insisted, massaging her ears. “We’re just getting to know each other.” Kahn pushed her massive head into Teldryn, causing him to stumble sideways.

“Alright, alright,” he laughed, throwing the reigns over her head. With a bit of effort he managed to get his first foot into the stirrup before swinging fully up into the saddle. Kahn barely waited for him to find his seat before she trotted dutifully over to stand beside Skywise and Aerik.

“Let’s aim to make it to the Nightgate Inn by sundown,” Aerik suggested, attempting to steady Skywise as the horse pranced nervously in place.

“Sounds reasonable enough,” Teldryn agreed. “We’ll have to keep a pretty steady pace.” He saw Nilandur finally mount his horse out of the corner of his eye.

“Finally done coddling her?” Teldryn asked with a smirk as the elf walked her over to join them. Nilander sniffed, turning his nose up at the comment.

“What are you going to name her?” Aerik asked curiously.

Nilandur smiled softly. “I believe I’ll name her Mara.”

Teldryn laughed. “Naming your horse after a god? Isn’t that a bit bold?”

“Didn’t you do the same thing, you merry hypocrite?” Aerik retorted, pointing at Kahn accusingly as Skywise danced sideways, chomping at the bit.  

“Akulakahn was not a god,” Teldryn argued, gently nudging Kahn into movement with his heels.

Aerik snorted. “Yes, just a massive Dwemer automaton of legend. Which isn’t at all a bold thing to name a horse.”

 

The three began to make their way to the main road, their horses’ hooves clopping loudly on the cobblestone. Teldryn glanced over his shoulder to give Nilandur a companionable smile. The high elf returned the expression, leaning forward to pat Mara’s neck affectionately. _So much for selling the horse afterwards_ , Teldryn thought bemusedly. Aerik took the lead as Skywise broke into a trot, which seemed to be the horse’s natural gate most days. Teldryn followed behind, urging Kahn faster as well, with Nilandur bringing up the rear. After they had given the horses a chance to warm up, they broke into a steady lope, cantering in silence for a good distance until they were safely through the planes and out of sabercat territory. They stopped momentarily to let the horses drink from a small spring, dawning their thick cloaks and furs before beginning their ascent into the snowy mountains of the Pale. They pushed on through the ice and snow, silent for hours, each lost in their own thoughts, keeping a sharp eye on their surroundings.

 

The sun was low in the sky when they reached the Nightgate Inn, windblown and a little sore. Aerik taught Nilandur how to remove Mara’s tack, as well as how to brush and blanket her for the evening. Teldryn gave Kahn another carrot, buckling the thick blankets around her neck and ruffling her forelock affectionately as she crunched the treat loudly, steam rising from her nostrils. They left the horses tethered beneath the Inn’s small stable, which was more of a lean-to than anything, but it would keep them sufficiently sheltered for the night.

 

Teldryn was enjoying the relative quiet of their journey so far, though he couldn’t help but feel a nervous twist in his gut. It was the calm before the storm. Thalmor agents had already tracked them down, coincidentally or not. It was only a matter of time before they found them again. Teldryn had been on the run before, and it was not an experience he wanted to repeat - yet here they were. He remained silent as they ate their dinner, content to listen to Aerik and Nilandur chatting about trivial topics. His mind continued to wander, distracted and fretful.

 Teldryn pulled Aerik to him as soon as they’d shut the door to their room, kissing him impatiently, wound tight with nervous need and pent up energy. Aerik smiled in his infuriatingly enigmatic way, moving maddeningly slow, which only served to hasten Teldryn’s frantic insistence as he tore away clothes and scrambled with buckles. They ground against each other, each at war in their own way. Aerik’s mouth was hot against Teldryn’s ear as he pressed him down onto the thin, straw-filled mattress. One pushed as the other pulled, and Teldryn found himself in one of those rare moments where he wanted to surrender. He barely spoke outside of monosyllabic affirmations as he guided Aerik between his thighs, hissing as he was worked open, groaning at the low, murmuring encouragements from the man above him.

Aerik pressed into him, and it burned slightly, but the blurred line between pleasure and pain filled his mind, replacing the incessant chatter of disjointed thoughts. He pressed back hard as they fell into a rocking rhythm, grunting reflexively with each thrust at the deep, jolting pleasure that ripped through his body like a tidal wave. His fingers dug into Aerik’s shoulders, sure to leave marks, as he both held on and pushed away. He threw his head back, bearing his throat for Aerik to claim, which he did, sinking his teeth in just enough to make Teldryn cry out raggedly. His dick lay neglected against his stomach as Aerik continued to drive into him. Frustrated, he reached down and tugged aggressively at his own length, torn between wanting release and wanting to be held in this suspended state for as long as he could stand, until his nerve endings blazed, raw and overstimulated.

His ankles crossed behind Aerik’s back, thighs tensing as the swelling of his approaching orgasm began to crescendo. He gritted his teeth together, squeezing his eyes closed as he pumped himself furiously, no longer timing his movements to Aerik’s. His climax rolled through him like a thunderstorm, a deep rumbling tension that erupted with a crack of lightning - a blinding white light bursting behind his eyelids. It felt like every muscle in his body contracted at once and he heard Aerik suck in a stuttering breath above him, rhythm faltering as his forehead dropped to the mattress with a long moan. Teldryn gasped, chest heaving as he attempted to catch his breath. Aerik pumped only a few more times before collapsing on top of him, breathing heavily.

 

Teldryn’s senses buzzed numbly as he came back into his body. He was aware of the dull ache as Aerik pulled out, knowing the ride to Winterhold would be a bit uncomfortable tomorrow, but cared very little in the moment.

“Don’t move,” Aerik panted, kissing Teldryn’s damp temple before pushing off the bed. Teldryn didn’t have to be told twice. He stared at the ceiling, eyes half-lidded, arms and legs feeling as though they might float away. He moved only enough to let Aerik help clean him, grimacing at the sting of the damp cloth against his entrance.

“Something on your mind?” Aerik asked with a low, breathy laugh. “Usually you only want that if you’re drunk.”

“Hmm…” Teldryn still didn’t feel like talking. He took the cloth from Aerik and used the clean side to wipe off his chest and hand, his arms suddenly feeling twice their weight once he began to move.

“Tel?” Aerik tried again, sounding somewhat worried.

“Lots on my mind, I suppose,” Teldryn ceded tiredly. “Needed to quiet it.”

“That’s fair, but you typically meditate to do that,” Aerik argued. He sat down tentatively on the side of the bed, placing a hand on Teldryn’s shin, lips slightly pursed. He clearly wasn’t going to give up on the subject until Teldryn gave him an answer he wanted to hear.

“Fine. I’m anxious. I wanted a fuck. Is that permissible?” he snapped, throwing their rag into the corner. Aerik looked at him, brows creased and mouth set in a grim line.        

“Of course it is,” he answered measuredly, calmly. “I’m just not used to seeing things get to you is all. You seemed fine today.” Teldryn rubbed his temples, taking a slow breath.

 

“Three Thalmor agents attacked us outside of Whiterun,” he sighed. “Not two days after we left Markarth. One, they knew we were heading to Whiterun, and two, they knew who we were and possibly what we were up to. Either Nilandur’s little memory trick didn’t work or someone at Northwatch Keep survived. Either way, we’re going to have more of those damn elves hot on our ass at any moment. I don’t mind a game of cat and mouse, but not when it feels like the cat is always two steps ahead.”

 

Aerik was frowning deeply, running a hand across his chin as he sat on the edge of the bed, eyes glassy. Teldryn sighed, sitting up and pressing his forehead against Aerik’s shoulder.

“So thanks for the distraction,” he mumbled, running a hand down Aerik’s back.

“No problem…” Aerik replied distantly, sighing. “For now, all we can do is get some rest and carry on. Winterhold is less than a day away. At least we’ll have some protection at the college.”

 

They settled into bed, each laying awake for a while longer, staring at the ceiling.

“Shall we breathe?” Teldryn asked finally.

“Please,” Aerik whispered.

 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recovery chapter!  
> So I think I was eager to get this fella posted because the next one is going to be SUPER plot heavy with lots and lots of info. I could have probably combined these last two chapters, but that would have made it just a liiiittle bit longer than I'd like my chapters to be. 
> 
> Aerik's horse is named after my favorite Elf Quest character! 
> 
> Anyhoo, thank you beautiful people! Your comments seriously give me life - I look forward to each and every one of them. Shoutout to [spiney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiney/pseuds/spiney) for reading over a chunk of this chapter for me and doing some hecka good beta-ing.


	7. A Hypothetical Treachery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, good peoeple. 
> 
> This was a _mammoth_ of a chapter to write AND edit, let me just start off by saying. I feel like I've done more research in the past month, on TES lore alone, than I've done since I graduated from college - _and I was a history major..._  
>  That's not to say that it hasn't been incredibly fun! But the sheer amount of information has certainly made my head spin. For those of you up on the lore, you'll have to just bare with me. There's a certain point where I simply _have_ to take things into my own hands and run with what I've been given - otherwise I'd absolutely drive myself mad trying to finish this story. 
> 
> All that being said, sit back and enjoy the ride as our wacky cast of characters get in way over their heads!  
> Also: **MIRABELLE ALWAYS LIVES IN MY STORIES**
> 
>  
> 
> _References will be cited at the end of the chapter_

 

It was snowing heavily when they finally reached Winterhold. Kahn was being difficult, throwing her head and stomping defiantly as Teldryn led her to the pitiful excuse for a stable.

“Just for a day or so, old girl,” he grumbled, turning her around in the cramped stall. She snorted loudly, steam shooting from her flared nostrils like an angry dragon. Teldryn chuckled, patting her sympathetically before removing her tack, brushing her down, and blanketing her. He gave the stable hand a stern look and a little extra coin to insure proper treatment.  Aerik was pouting about the condition of the stables as they made their way towards the college.

“They’ll be fine, love,” Teldryn assured. “They’ve stayed here before.”

 

The college loomed before them, perched precariously on the half-collapsed cliff. Teldryn kept his gaze pointedly forward as they crossed the barely-held-together stone bridge.

“It’s still just as bad as I remembered…” Nilandur commented sadly, boldly looking down at the lapping waters of the Sea of Ghosts miles below them. The gates to the school opened on their own, as if the college was welcoming them back. Teldryn suppressed a shiver not due to to the cold. Something about the place always put him on edge. Dark magic permeated the air despite the best intentions of the teachers and students. _If these walls could talk_ , he thought distantly.

 

They pushed onwards into the Hall of the Elements, eager to get out of the storm. The door closed heavily behind them, cutting off the sound of the howling wind, leaving a ringing silence in its wake. They all removed their fur lined hoods and sighed in tandem, which Aerik couldn’t help but point out and have a laugh over.

 

“Aerik? Is that you, dear boy?” An older man with a weathered face came striding towards them from the main hall, smiling kindly.

“Tolfdir, old friend. How are you?” Aerik beamed as they clasped forearms in greeting.

“In the middle of a lecture, I’m afraid,” he chuckled, jerking his chin over his shoulder. Several wide-eyed students peered out from beneath their hoods as they huddled around the swirling beam of magic that lit the hall from its center well.

“Don’t let us interrupt,” Teldryn smirked as Tolfdir turned to shake his hand slightly more formally in greeting.

“It’s perfectly alright, Teldryn,” he assured with a smile before turning to address the class behind him. “Take ten minutes to practice your wards with one another. Please, only use the weakest destruction spell you know. It’s not a contest to maim.”

 

The students spread out through the hall as Tolfdir returned his attention to their group.

“It’s wonderful to see both of you. And who is this?” he asked, politely extending his hand to Nilandur.

“Ah, Tolfdir, this is Nilandur,” Aerik offered, clearing his throat. “My father.”

 

Tolfdir’s eyes widened, wrinkles on his forehead becoming more pronounced as his eyebrows shot upwards.

“Father!” he repeated, looking between Aerik and the high elf. Nilandur took Tolfdir’s hand and shook it amicably, either ignoring the man’s surprise or completely oblivious to it.

“Pleasure to meet one of the current professors.” Nilandur smiled.

“He’s Master Wizard, actually,” Aerik added behind his hand.

“Ah! It’s even more of an honor to meet you, then! Is Savos Aren still here? I was a resident at the college a little over fifty years ago. He and I became good friends.”

“Oh,” Tolfdir’s expression turned somber. “I’m sorry, but…”

“He was killed,” Aerik interrupted, frowning deeply. “During the situation with the Eye of Magnus.”

Nilandur’s face dropped. “I see…”

 

“We’re actually here for research purposes,” Teldryn interjected, feeling the need for a subject change. “We were hoping to speak with Urag.”   
“Right, of course,” Tolfdir nodded. “He should be at his usual post. How long will you be staying? I’m sure Mirabelle would be happy to let you use the Arch-Mage’s quarters. She hardly ever stays up there. Says it’s too isolated.”

Aerik shrugged. “We’ll be here however long it takes for us to get the information we need. But I’d love to sit in on one of your lectures, if we have time. Considering I was too busy fooling around during most of them when I was a student here.” He smirked elfishly. Tolfdir laughed, a raspy, wheezing sound.

“You’re more than welcome. And, speaking of, I should return to my students. If you have any questions regarding your research, don’t hesitate to seek me out. I’m always happy to offer assistance.”

 

They politely bid their farewells and made their way up the stairs to the Arcanaeum.

“This brings back so many memories,” Nilandur lamented. “I just wish… well, it feels like everyone I’ve loved has passed away since I left for Artaeum.” Teldryn looked at Aerik, stretching his mouth into a flat line. Neither of them quite knew what to say to that.

“Such is the fate of all mortals,” Teldryn offered after a beat of silence.

“Yes,” Nilandur agreed easily. “I shall join them eventually.”

 

They climbed the last flight of stairs and stepped softly into the library. Urag gro-Shub sat, just as Tolfdir said, at his usual post - cross-armed and scowling behind the librarian’s desk. His expression shifted into one of recognition as the three approached.

“You better not be here to cause trouble,” he growled, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Aerik held his arms out to the side, gesturing widely.

“I’m always here to cause trouble,” he breamed, walking up and leaning casually on the desk. “How’ve you been, Urag, you handsome devil? Terrifying the new students appropriately?”

“What do you want?” Urag grumbled, a smile still threatening his composure.

“To enjoy the company of my favorite librarian, what else?” Aerik exclaimed. Urag raised an eyebrow.

Aerik let out a nervous laugh. “And to ask for some research help.”

“That I can do.” Urag got to his feet. “What is it you’re looking for?”

 

“We need information on something called the Snow Tower, or anything that might be similar. Possibly on mortals attaining godhood?” Aerik explained, tone rising steadily. This earned a scoff from Urag.

“That’s a vast request, but I think I might have a book or two for you. May I ask why you’re interested in such a thing?” he asked innocently enough, beginning to walk towards one of the many towering bookcased that were kept locked behind his desk.

“I’ll let you know depending on what we find,” Aerik responded ominously. Urag huffed in annoyance, unlocking one of the massive bookcases and skimming the spines with a light touch. He pulled a massive tome from one of the center shelves, running a hand over its cover reverently before turning around.

“Here.” He handed the book to Aerik.

“ _The Monomyth_?” Aerik read the title aloud, contorting his face in confusion. “Are you sure this will help?”

“Trust me, Dragonborn.”

 

Teldryn browsed some of the books that were sitting out on the various tables scattered about the Arcanaeum, fingertips brushing their covers. He stopped at a book titled _The Old Ways_ , picking it up and flipping through it.

“Disrespect that book and I’ll have you torn apart by angry atronachs,” Urag growled at him from across the room. Teldryn smiled thinly.

“Perish the thought,” he quipped, snapping the book closed. “I’ll be _incredibly_ gentle with it.”

 

Urag harrumphed lowly before finally turning to Nilandur.

“And what do you want? To stand there slack-jawed?” he rumbled. Nilandur quickly  shut his mouth, which had been slightly ajar.

“Forgive me,” he offered politely. “Um… perhaps you have texts regarding Et’Ada?”

“Et’Ada? I don’t hear them called that too often,” Urag admitted, demeanor softening slightly. “But yes, I certainly have books on the Original Spirits.” He shuffled around behind the desk a bit, grabbing several large tomes, and one significantly smaller one. He handed them to Nilandur, who scanned them briefly.

“ _A Children’s Anuad_?” he laughed as he held the smaller book aloft, eyes crinkling in amusement. Urag crossed his arms.

“Sometimes simple is good,” he stated. Nilandur nodded with a sagely smile.

“You’re very right. Thank you for your suggestions.”

 

The trio lapsed into silence as each went to their own respective corners to read. _The Old Ways_ turned out to be a somewhat rambling account of the Psijics and their beliefs - or at least what they believed their roles were.

 

_Primarily, it is easy to grasp the necessity both of endowing good men with great power and making powerful men good._

 

Teldryn scoffed, turning ahead a few pages and skimming lightly. _Good luck with that_ , he thought bleakly.

“This is just a bunch of creation myths,” Aerik sighed in exasperation after several long minutes of silent reading. “I haven’t seen a Tower mentioned _once_ so far.” He glared in Urag’s direction.

“Read the subchapter about The Dragon God and The Missing God,” Urag urged.

“Why don’t you just tell me what I’m looking for?” Aerik argued.

“Because then you won’t _learn_ anything,” Urag growled. This earned an eyeroll and a frustrated groan from Aerik, mumbling something about _not being a student anymore_ , though he continued to read. Teldryn watched him with fondness, smiling overtop of his own book.

 

“Hmm…” Aerik hummed thoughtfully, looking up at Teldryn. “Listen to this:

 

_Humans, with the exception of the Redguards, see this act -_ “The creation of Mundus by… uh, Lorkhan,” Aerik explained before continuing, “ _...as a divine mercy, an enlightenment whereby lesser creatures can reach immortality. Aldmer, with the exception of the Dark Elves, see this act as a cruel deception, a trick that sundered their connection to the spirit plane._ ”

 

“Well that certainly seems to be what that Justicar was going on and on about,” Teldryn agreed.

“And in line with the Thalmor’s goals,” Nilandur added, walking over from his spot across the room to sit cross legged on the floor beside them. Urag also walked out from behind his desk and over to the trio, leaning on the floating wall that bordered the steps to listen. Aerik flipped a few pages ahead.

 

“Ok, and here’s a bit on Lorkhan:

_This Creator-Trickster-Tester deity is in every Tamrielic mythic tradition. His most popular name is the Aldmeri "Lorkhan," or Doom Drum.”_ Aerik snorted at the nickname. _“He convinced or contrived the Original Spirits to bring about the creation of the Mortal Plane, upsetting the status quo much like his father, Padomay, had introduced instability into the universe in the Beginning Place. After the world is materialized, Lorkhan is separated from his divine center, sometimes involuntarily, and wanders the creation of the et'Ada._ ”

 

Aerik scratched his chin. “Why does the name Lorkhan sound so familiar?”

“The Heart of Lorkhan,” Teldryn and Urag said in unison, both giving each other flat, annoyed looks afterwards.

“It’s an intrinsic part of Dunmer history and lore,” Teldryn continued after a beat. “The Heart of Lorkhan was said to be the divine spark that gave Nirn its magic - during Convention. It’s located in the Red Mountain… or it _was_ located there. There’s speculation as to what became of it after the mountain exploded. Personally, I don’t buy into it as an actual _physical_ object. More of a metaphor,” he shrugged.

“Most of these myths are metaphors that are based in some kind of truth,” Nilandur added enigmatically. Teldryn rolled his eyes.

“The Heart also gave the Tribunal their divinity, correct?” Urag asked Teldryn, causing the mer to blink dumbly for a moment.

“Er, yes, that’s the story. They kind of took it by force, if we’re honest. That’s part of the blasted ‘curse’. Again, I personally think it’s a metaphor for attaining spiritual enlightenment without trying to find shortcuts…” he faded off, drumming his fingers against the tabletop. “I’m no religious expert, truly. The Tribunal is… _was_ very real to my people, but in the same way Talos is to the Nords, I suppose. They achieved godhood, showed that it could be attained. Of course, it didn’t have much of a happy ending, but, what stories do?”

“It is fascinating, though,” Nilandur chimed in, chin resting in his hands as he gazed up at Teldryn like a child at storytime. Teldryn shifted awkwardly in his seat, feeling supremely underqualified to be giving lectures on Dunmer mythology.

 

“But about Lorkhan,” Teldryn cleared his throat.

“So he’s a god?” Aerik asked, scrunching up his face.

Urag nodded. “You’d probably know him better by the name Shor.”

Aerik blinked, sputtering for a moment. “Shor and Lorkhan are the same!? How is that possible? Shor is a Nordic god. I’ve probably sung _Shor’s Tongue_ hundreds of times. _Lorkhan’s Tongue_ just doesn’t have the same ring to it…” Aerik trailed off into his own thoughts for a moment before snapping back. “Plus, this book says he’s considered a dead god. If he’s so dead, then how do you explain Sovngarde?”

 

“I’m not here to engage in discourse about the varying overlapping pantheons _or_ the afterlife,” Urag said with some finality. “I gave you that book precisely because of Lorkhan - namely his Heart. The Red Mountain is considered one of the pillars, or ‘Towers’ of Mundus. Along with Ada-mantia, the first Tower - said to be created by Akatosh himself,” Urag explained. “Ada-mantia is also known as the Direnni Tower.”

“On the Isle of Balfiera!?” Nilandur nearly squawked. Urag nodded. Teldryn and Aerik exchanged confused glances.

“Ada-mantia and the Red Mountain are the only known Towers created by the gods, but the Aldmer attempted to create their own towers around the Mythic and First Era, to copy Akatosh and regain their godhood. However, what and where the Towers are is purely speculation among historians,” Urag explained.

“You could have just _told_ us all this?” Aerik snapped, closing the book he had been reading. Urag smiled, baring his teeth in almost a feral manner, his tusks glinting in the low candle light.

“Sometimes you have to work for the things you want in life, Dragonborn,” he retorted. “Unfortunately, I can’t recall anything regarding the Snow Tower, though I assume it is connected to the others. I thought maybe having you read through some mythology would wake up that sluggish brain of yours.”

“Finicky old bastard,” Aerik grumbled through a clenched jaw, before his expression shifted entirely. He jumped suddenly to his feet, knocking his chair backwards. It clattered loudly against the floor, causing Urag to curse.

 

“Alduin’s Wall!” he shouted as he slammed his hands down on the table. Teldryn blinked at him, leaning back in his seat and away from the ruckus.

“What about it, love?” he asked calmly, looking to Nilandur, who shrugged.

“The prophecy! The Dragonborn prophecy! Where’s the damn book?” Aerik began hastily shuffling through the various books that sat around them.

“Excuse me,” Urag growled, striding briskly over to Aerik. “You can just _ask,_ you know?” He pushed Aerik’s hands out of the way, shuffling a few books around to reveal _The Book of the Dragonborn_. Aerik snatched it out of his hands, flipping to the back.

Urag grumbled in frustration. “Ungrateful little…”

“Here it is!” Aerik slammed a finger into the middle of the page.

 

_“When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world_

_When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped_

_When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles_

_When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls_

_When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding_

_The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.”_

 

Aerik looked up triumphantly, puffing out his chest slightly. Teldryn looked between Urag and Nilandur, none of them speaking for a moment, before turning back to Aerik.

“I do love when you get all excited like that,” Teldryn said at last, stirring a tittering laugh out of Nilandur. Urag just shook his head.

“That mentions… a lot of towers,” Nilandur pointed out.

“But is specifically mentions the Snow Tower.” Aerik tapped the page.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell this is all about?” Urag finally asked, crossing his arms and moving to sit back down behind his desk. Teldryn got up and stretched with a grunt, looking back at Aerik again, who seemed to be reading and re-reading the prophecy, turning back several pages, only to flip forward again.

Teldryn sighed, strolling over to Urag’s desk, _The Old Ways_ still tucked under his arm. “I don’t see why not.” He leaned against the counter. “We’ve come into some knowledge concerning the Thalmor’s occupation of Skyrim. Nilandur here was one of their prisoners. We rescued him only to find out that he’s a Psijic monk.”

“Ex-monk,” Nilandur peeped from where he still sat on the floor, beginning to leaf through _The Monomyth_. Urag’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

“You’re joking,” he laughed, a deep, rumbling noise.

“Honestly, I wish I was,” Teldryn sighed with a lopsided smile. “After… gently interrogating a Thalmor agent...” Urag guffawed at Teldryn’s phrasing. “We learned that they aren’t just trying to gain dominion over Tamriel, but more so attempting to attain divinity. Or, ‘regain’ it, as they believe.”

“Dirty little rats,” Urag spat. “Ancano, that squirmy bastard… he was always snooping around my Arcanaeum. I rest easy knowing he’s dead...” Urag snapped his jaw closed, looking off into the distance thoughtfully for a moment before getting up and disappearing behind the desk out of Teldryn’s line of sight. The orc’s sudden movements caught Aerik’s attention as well.

“What are you doing?” he asked curiously, closing _The Book of the Dragonborn_ and setting it on the table.

 

“I could have saved you all time if you’d just told me about all this earlier.” Urag bent down with a groan and Teldryn heard his knees crack. He and Aerik both leaned over the desk to see the orc kneeling in front of a strongbox.

“I… may have let myself into Ancano’s quarters after his death,” Urag admitted with a smirk as he looked up at the two of them. “I confiscated a few of his journals. For academic purposes, of course.”

“Of course,” Teldryn agreed with an enthusiastic grin. “And did you read them?”

“In pursuit of knowledge?” Aerik added with a sly smile of his own.

“I tried, but honestly I lost interest. A good deal of it is just a log of the students and faculty, what’s being taught, how we’re all terrible at magic and are a lost cause… You know, predictable stuff.” He set a stack of small journals on the counter. “So have at it.”

“You’re a gentleman and a scholar,” Teldryn grinned, picking up the journals with glee.

“I see your husband’s charms have been rubbing off on you,” Urag laughed, sitting back down behind the desk and throwing a smirk at Aerik, who winked knowingly.

“No, no,” Teldryn protested. “I’ve always been charming. He’s just louder.”

“Hey!”

 

Nilandur laughed from across the room, rising to his feet. Urag eyed him thoughtfully as the Altmer approached them.

“So you’re a Psijic monk, huh?” Urag huffed.

“Ex-monk…” Nilandur corrected for the second time.

“Then Artaeum didn’t disappear entirely.”

“It’s not gone, just hidden. In plain sight,” Nilandur responded with a half-shrug, wringing his hands nervously. “It’s amazing what one might miss if they don’t know where to look for it.”

“I do believe that’s the moral of the evening,” Teldryn smirked.

“Well, let’s go find Mirabelle and sort out our quarters for the evening,” Aerik suggested, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. “We’ve got a lot of reading to do. Urag, you’ve been a pleasure, as always. You’ve got looks and smarts and don’t let anyone ever tell you differently. You’re the complete package, my friend.”

“Your gratuitous flattery is concerning,” Urag said with a scowl. Aerik just winked, picking up _The Book of the Dragonborn_ and sliding it into his pack.  

Teldryn was shoving Ancano’s journals into his own pack when he turned back to Urag momentarily. “May I borrow this?” He shifted his shoulder to show _The Old Ways_ still nestled beneath his arm. The Orc’s brow furrowed.

“If I see a single dog ear I’ll have your head, Sero. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Teldryn sighed.

 

///

 

The Hall of Countenance was dark and quiet, soft murmurs of conversation drifting down from the upper story. Aerik whistled in form of greeting and several heads popped out of the rooms.   

“Aerik!” Faralda was the first to recognize him, strolling elegantly out of her room with a placid smile. “How good it is to see you.”

“Faralda,” he bowed politely, flashing a charming smile. “It’s good to be back. Do you know where Mirabelle might be?”

“You’re looking for me?” came a voice from over the balcony. The three looked up to see the short, Breton woman gazing down on them, a pleasant look of surprise on her face.

“You are the Arch-Mage, correct?” Aerik grinned. Mirabelle didn’t laugh so much as exhale sharply through her nose a few times.

“I’ll be right down.”

 

They ended up hiking back across the courtyard to the Hall of the Elements and climbing the stairs once more, spiraling up into the Arch-Mage’s quarters. Teldryn had only ever recalled seeing it once before, and his memory had failed him a bit. The room was massive, much bigger than he had remembered with a full alchemical garden brimming with plants and fungi from all over Tamriel. Mirabelle cast a few extra mage lights as they entered the room, walking over to sit at one of the tables.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” she asked cooly, leaning back in her chair.

“Well,” Aerik moved to sit. “We came here to do a bit of research and needed a place to stay for the night.”

“Research? On what?” she quirked an elegant brow.

“Um, the Snow Tower?” Aerik offered with a shrug. Mirabelle inclined her head thoughtfully, but didn’t offer any insight of her own

“I assume you’ve already spoken to Urag, then.”

“Yes. He gave us quite a few things to skim through,” Teldryn offered, holding up his copy of _The Old Ways_. He kept Ancano’s journals discreetly tucked away in his pack. Mirabelle chuckled, slicing off a bit of cheese and popping it into her mouth, chewing primly.

“Well, I have a class to teach here in the next hour. You’re welcome to use my quarters for the night. Help yourself to the alchemy station as well. Just don’t blow anything up.” She looked pointedly at Aerik, who raised his hands defensively.

“That was _one_ time!”

 

After Mirabelle took her leave, Aerik pulled up an extra chair to the table where they had been sitting. Teldryn reached into his pack and pulled out the journals, letting them fall heavily onto the table before sitting down. Aerik opened up _The Book of the Dragonborn_ again, turning to the last page.

“Okay, so, our biggest lead so far is just this one little passage: _When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding..._ ”

“Clearly referring to the Skyrim’s current political state,” Teldryn deduced.

“Yeah, but what tower in Skyrim has been ‘sundered’? The line before this one is clearly referring to the White-Gold Tower and Martin Septim.”

“Perhaps it’s more of a metaphorical tower?” Nilandur offered.

Aerik grunted, reaching for Ancano’s journals. “I guess let’s see what this bastard had to say.”

 

He flipped casually through the first few pages before screwing up his face in confusion, holding the book at arms distance.

“It’s all in Altmeri,” he groaned. Nilandur perked up.

“I can help translate,” he offered, delicately picking up one of the journals and opening to the middle. He read thoughtfully for a moment, tapping a long finger against his lower lip.

“Hmm… it appears in this section he’s talking about the students. How dreadful the teachers are… etcetera, etcetera… ‘No grasp of magick’. By Auri-El, this mer sounds dreadful,” Nilandur shook his head. “Ah... Something here about an excavation, as well.”

“That’s probably referring to Saarthall! Right before we found the Eye of Magnus! That’s a good place to start,” Aerik pulled his own journal from the pack that lay at his feet as well as a sharpened stick of charcoal.

“What’s it say?”

 

Nilandur cleared his throat, blinking at the page a few times as he translated in his head.

“ _Tolfdir found something in that excavation. He’s being tight lipped about it. That nitwit Nord was with him._ ” Nilandur looked up as Aerik laughed.

“He’s talking about me,” he giggled.

“He calls you quite a number of names, then,” Nilandur smirked. “You must have really gotten under his skin.”

“I made sure to,” Aerik grinned. “It was easy to do. Guy was wound tighter than a Dwarven sphere. But keep going.” Nilandur flipped forward a page, silently reading for another moment before turning a few more pages ahead, eyebrows raising slightly.

“He mentions the Psijics here…. ‘ _A Psijic monk appeared on the grounds asking for that damnable Nord pest, Aerik Havardr. Then, as soon as we brought him the boy he said there had been a misunderstanding and left without a glance backwards. Something is amiss here and it all seems to revolve around that…_ ” Nilandur let out an undignified snort, causing Teldryn and Aerik to exchange glances.

“I’m sorry… it’s just, well, there’s no translation for this word into Common, but he essentially implied that you fornicate with older women.”

“Motherfucker, is the word, Nil,” Aerik said flatly without missing a beat and Teldryn lost it, collapsing forward against the table, heaving with cackles. Nilandur flushed a deep bronze, clearing his throat.

“I suppose there is a translation then,” he mumbled over Teldryn’s laughter. He shifted in his seat awkwardly, pushing his hair out of his face. Teldryn was still wheezing a bit when he attempted to continue.

“Anyways, he goes on:   

_At last, they’ve brought it back to the college. It’s astounding. I’ve never felt power like this before. I feel as though this may be what we’ve been looking for, perhaps even the key to our success. My superiors will most certainly be pleased - I’m sure to be promoted immediately. I’ve already sent word to Ondolemar in Markarth of the discovery…_ ”

“What they’d been looking for?” Aerik interjected.

“It seems they’ve been looking for a tremendous power source for some time,” Teldryn said, his composure having finally returned. Nilandur skipped a few more pages ahead, brow creasing in concern.

“ _I traveled to the Midden. I found the Augur. He confirmed everything I’ve already known to be true. That we’ve always known it to be true:_

 

_To kill Man is to reach Heaven, from where we came before the Doom Drum's iniquity. When we accomplish this, we can escape the mockery and long shame of the Material Prison. To achieve this goal, we must:_

 

_Erase the Upstart Talos from the mythic. His presence fortifies the Wheel of the Convention, and binds our souls to this plane._

_Remove Man not just from the world, but from the Pattern of Possibility, so that the very idea of them can be forgotten and thereby never again repeated._

_With Talos and the Sons of Talos removed, the Dragon will become ours to unbind. The world of mortals will be over._

_The Dragon will uncoil his hold on the stagnancy of linear time and move as Free Serpent again, moving through the Aether without measure or burden, spilling time along the innumerable roads we once traveled. And with that we will regain the mantle of the imperishable spirit._ ”

 

The three of them fell into silence as Nilandur finished reading, each processing. The air hung heavily around them as the weight of the implications finally began to settle.

“Fuck,” Aerik exhaled finally, threading his fingers through his hair. “This is bad. This is really bad.”

“But they didn’t get the Eye,” Teldryn clarified, somewhat nervously.

“No,” Nilandur shook his head. “It’s on the island with my order. Those higher up than I took it upon themselves to retrieve it. We knew there were forces attempting to use it in a way that would upset the balance of life, but I did not know to what extent. I see now why my order chose to intervene.”

“But does the Eye even matter? Ancano said the Augur confirmed the Thalmor’s beliefs. That guy is supposed to be… all-wise or some bullshit. Is it true then? Are men really the reason we’re cursed to live mortal lives?” Aerik’s voice cracked.

“Do not think like them,” Nilandur said, angrier than either of them had heard him yet. “Do not fall into the trap of thinking that mortality is a curse.”

“Then what is it then?” Aerik pressed, temper also rising. “Since when is death and suffering anything but a curse?”

 

Nilandur looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, eyebrows knit together, his expression a mixture of sadness and profound love. He reached across the table and took Aerik’s hand into his own.

“Is that all you see?” he asked quietly. Aerik looked down at where their hands met, an unreadable expression on his face. He said nothing.

“I wish I could have helped…” Nilandur broke off, pulling his hand away and looking down at the table. “I wish I could have helped raise you,” he finished quietly. Teldryn suddenly felt very intrusive, privy to something far too private. He heard Aerik swallow.

“I see so much of your mother in you. She was a wildfire, untamable. I’d never met someone who’s spirit burned so brightly,” he smiled sadly. “But her heart was sometime too big for her own good.” Aerik let out a hiccup of a laugh, covering his mouth and looking away, eyes watering. Nilandur continued.

 

“She hated to see anyone suffer. I loved that about her. We’d sometimes get into heated discussions about the role of suffering on Nirn. She, like the Thalmor in a way, believed that suffering was unjust and undeserved. On the other hand, I always thought it was just the way the gods created us - we were born out of strife and conflict, thus we reflected the nature of our creators. But after studying on the Island, after years of meditating on our condition, of studying the Weave, and seeing how we all fit together, I have a much different view.”

He paused, looking at his hands, as if gathering the words he wished to say. Teldryn realized that he was leaning forward, muscles tensed. He relaxed, shifting to lean back in his chair, forcing himself to take a deep breath.

“Suffering is not a lone condition of mortality, but rather it exists in duality. It is a contrast to joy. Just as pain exists in contrast to pleasure; love in contrast to hate. You cannot experience one without the other. In this way the gods gave us a gift - the gift of _choice_. They are static beings. They are what they have always been and will always be. But they gave up parts of themselves so that we may have choice.

“For you see, no mortal has one inherent condition, unlike the gods. No one person is born inherently good or inherently evil. The righteous king can be corrupted, but just as easily can the darkest heart be brought back to the light. Mortals are mutable creatures, and this is why we are so beautiful. Even this…” he tapped the journal that still lay open in front of him, “Ancano fellow had the capacity for great love and goodness. Unfortunately he chose not to use it.

“But that is why I joined the Psijics. Above all else, we believe in the capacity of mortals to _choose_ goodness, and for many years attempted to guide them towards that choice. Our souls are already immortal, we know this. Mundus is but a test - if we live in righteousness and goodness then there is no reason we could not transcend this state. Not only to live amongst the gods, but to _surpass_ them. This is the gift of mortality.”

  


Aerik and Teldryn sat in stunned silence, staring at the mer across from them. Nilandur looked slightly sheepish for rambling, tucking a long strand of hair behind his ear self-consciously. Teldryn suddenly felt as though he were looking into the face of someone hundreds of years older than himself.

“That’s…” Teldryn cleared his throat. “That’s a very…. honorable viewepoint,” he said lamely. He’d never given much thought by ways of ‘compassion’ and ‘love’, and rather had often seen them as weaknesses or an inconvenience. To suddenly be looking these attributes in the face, and to have eyes that looked back at him without judgement, was more jarring than he’d like to admit. Aerik sniffed loudly, looking somewhat put out with himself as he wiped angrily at his nose.

“Well that’s all well and good, but we won’t be able to stop the Thalmor by loving them to death,” he grumbled, and Nilandur laughed breathily.

“I’m afraid you’re correct. And what they plan to do, however they plan to do it, it must be stopped. That is a fact.”

Aerik motioned to the journal. “Does Ancano say anything else? Maybe something about a Snow Tower?”

 

Nilandur turned his attention back to the journal, tapping a long finger against his lips again as he read.

“He says here, ‘ _It is rumored that the Snow Throat’s stone is said to be ‘The Cave’ - but it is unclear if that is  literal or figuratively. Regardless, moving the Eye to such a location will prove difficult. I am going to attempt to taste of its power tonight and see what possibilities it might present…’ ._ ”

 

Aerik held up his hands, shaking his head back and forth.

“Wait, wait, wait… Snow _Throat_? That’s not a mis-translation?” Nilandur shook his head.

“No, it most definitely says Throat, not Tower,” he assured, flipping forward a page. “And it appears we’ve reached the end of his writings.”

“Yeah, because he went crazy and nearly blew the college up after that,” Aerik growled as he massaged his temples. “Snow Throat, Snow Throat… you don’t think,” he turned to Teldryn. “You don’t think that’s referring to the Throat of the World do you?” Teldryn raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side as he rolled the idea around in his brain.

“It _is_ covered in Snow, and the highest peak in all of Tamriel,” he conceded. “Taller than the Red Mountain.”

“Which was included in the Dragonborn prophecy,” Nilandur added excitedly.

“Gods, are they trying to bring down an entire mountain? Forget Mundus, even if it did nothing, half of Skyrim would be wiped off the map.” Aerik ran a hand nervously through his hair. None of them spoke for a long minute.

 

“So... what do we do?” Aerik asked finally. Teldryn looked to Nilandur, who looked back, his expression confirming that he was just as lost as they were.

“Get the Thalmor out of Skyrim?” Teldryn offered finally with a shrug. “It’s a temporary solution, but could work. Or at least buy us time. Get them away from the Throat of the World, at least.”

“So I guess heading to Windhelm really is next on the agenda.” Aerik flopped back into his seat, sinking down and letting out a long groan.

“I hate Ulfric,” he whined dramatically.

“If I can suck it up, then so can you,” Teldryn clipped, shoving Aerik’s shoulder playfully. His husband shot him a devilish smile, reaching over to push him back.

“Fine. _Fine_. We’ll set out first thing in the morning.”

 

///

 

Later that evening, after they had settled into their various sleeping arrangements, Telryn found himself sprawled out under the lush covers of the Arch-Mage’s large bed, _The Old Ways_ resting against his lap as he read:

 

_What, after all, is the origin of these spiritual forces that move the invisible strings of Mundus? Any neophyte of Artaeum knows that these spirits are our ancestors -- and that, while living, they too were bewildered by the spirits of their ancestors, and so on back to the original Acharyai. The Daedra and gods to whom the common people turn are no more than the spirits of superior men and women whose power and passion granted them great influence in the afterworld._  

 

Teldryn grunted to himself as he read. Aerik was already beginning to snore lightly beside him. He looked over at the man he had decided to call ‘husband’ - so beautiful, so flawed, and yet so great and terrible in his power. That gently snoring throat had the ability to shatter bones and crumble walls. He turned back to his book. Perhaps they all really could become gods one day, without destroying what had already been created.

 

Talos certainly had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> [The Monomyth](https://elderscrolls.fandom.com/wiki/The_Monomyth)  
> [The Old Ways](https://elderscrolls.fandom.com/wiki/The_Old_Ways)  
> [The Book of the Dragonborn](https://elderscrolls.fandom.com/wiki/The_Book_of_the_Dragonborn)  
> [An Altmeri Commentary on Talos](https://www.imperial-library.info/content/forum-archives-michael-kirkbride) by Michael Kirkbride (Used as Ancano's journal entry).
> 
> [whispers] Just so we're all on the same page, while the theory of the Thalmor trying to unravel Mundus is fun, it shouldn't necessarily be treated as canon! That is all. [/whispers]
> 
> Thanks for tuning in, good people! Until next week. (◡‿◡✿)


	8. The Bear of Markarth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh I was impatient to post this chapter because it has one of my favorite scenes in it. 
> 
> WELCOME TO WINDHELM, EVERYONE!

Kahn shook her head anxiously as they approached the Windhelm stables. Teldryn patted the side of her neck from the saddle, shushing her calmingly. The smell of smoke drifted through the cold, crisp air - the Khajiit caravans were parked just behind the stables, fires blazing to keep the desert dwellers warm. Some days were worse than others for Teldryn, in terms of the bleak, bone-numbing cold of the country. Others were not. Today was one of the latter. Aerik seemed to be downright comfortable in the late day sun, smiling and humming to himself as they rode on. Nilandur, on the other hand, shivered like a wet cat, teeth chattering as he pulled the massive fur cloak he’d acquired higher up around his ears.

 

“We’re almost to the gate,” Aerik assured, slowing Skywise down to walk astride his father’s horse.

“H-how are you not freezing?” Nilandur stuttered, eyes wide. Aerik laughed, thumping his fist against his chest.

“Nord blood.” He winked. “Thanks to mom.”

“Ah…” Nilandur nodded, a little too vigorously. “Right.”

 

They dropped the horses off at the stable, Teldryn taking extra time to brush and coddle Kahn, since she was already somewhat annoyed with him.

“I know, old girl,” Teldryn cooed, brushing down her long neck. “Nasty Stormcloak territory. They’ll take good care of you, if they know what’s good for them.”

“Are you talking to your horse?” Aerik called from a stall over.

“She’s upset,” Teldryn sniffed.

“She’s a _horse_ ,” Aerik argued.

“Oh, don’t try to tell me you don’t fuss over your ornery gelding like a mother hen.”

“Skywise isn’t ornery!” Aerik protested, laughing as Skywise kicked the back of the stall as the horse shuffled anxiously about.

 

Nilandur was having another one of his quiet moments with Mara, their foreheads pressed placidly together. Teldryn wandered over, leaning against the stall door.

“Read to get out of this cold, sera?” he asked. Nilandur smiled, eyes still closed as he stroked the side of his horse’s face.  

“Just another moment,” he replied softly. Teldryn rolled his eyes with a smirk, walking to Aerik’s side. His husband slipped a hand around his waist, leaning in to kiss the hollow dip behind his ear.   

“Preparing a show for Ulfric?” Teldryn teased, turning his head to steal an actual kiss.

“Hmm,” Aerik hummed thoughtfully against his lips. “I am going to have a hard time keeping my hands off you in his court.”  

“The scandal of it all,” Teldryn rumbled, laughing. Nilandur joined them after a moment and Aerik relinquished his grip around Teldryn’s waist.

“Don’t expect a warm welcome,” he warned.

Nilandur shivered. “Nothing about this place is warm.”

 

They strode briskly down the long walkway that lead to the main gates of Windhelm, guards eyeing them warily, their posture’s stiffening as the trio passed. The wind blew insistently at their backs, almost ushering them towards the city faster. As they pushed through the massive doors, Teldryn felt the creeping sensation of dread trickle down from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. He _hated_ this city for so many reasons, and now they were here to try to become its ally. It seemed wrong, and every fiber of his being lashed out in protest. His gut wrenched in his stomach as they approached the Palace of Kings, ignoring the passing snide comments from Windhelm’s finest citizens.

 

The large oak doors closed heavily behind them and the brittle wind was cut off, leaving a ringing in Teldryn’s ears in the quietness of the hall around them. There, on his throne, sat the man himself: Ulfric Stormcloak, the Bear of Markarth, the face of Nordic nationalism, and the reason for this whole damn civil war mess. His attention was currently trained on his general, the two of them speaking in pointed tones, not quite hushed enough to prevent the sound from being carried all the way down the hall.

“Tell me Galmar, why is it you fight for me then?”

“I’d follow you into the depths of Oblivion, you know that,” Galmar responded, somewhat irritably from what Teldryn could tell.

“But why do you fight? If not for me, what then?” Ulfric pressed. The trio were walking slowly towards the throne. Aerik had a cold, yet thoughtful look on his face, slowly removing his gloves and bracers and tucking them beneath his arm.

“I’ll die before elves dictate the fates of men,” Galmar nearly spat. “Are we not one in this?”

“I fight for the men I've held in my arms, dying on foreign soil. I fight for their wives and children, whose names I heard whispered in their last breath. I fight for we few who did come home, only to find our country full of strangers wearing familiar faces. I fight for my people impoverished to pay the debts of an Empire too weak to rule them, yet brands them criminals for wanting to rule themselves. I fight so that all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing. I fight... because I must."

 

The sharp sound of Aerik clapping rang through the hall, alarmingly loud. Ulfric and Galmar both snapped their gazes to the man, eyes narrowing. Aerik just continued to clap.

“Quite the rousing speech, there, Jarl Ulfric.” He grinned without any trace of friendliness. “How long’ve you been practicing that one?”

“Dragonborn,” Ulfric rumbled, sinking sideways into his throne, one elbow resting casually against the armrest. “Have you finally made a decision on the war? To fight alongside your Nordic brothers and sisters?” His eyes flickered to Teldryn who held his gaze steadily.

“I see you still have your shadow,” he commented with a downsweeping glance. Teldryn felt Aerik’s hackles beginning to rise, which was most likely exactly what Ulfric was aiming for. Teldryn had been at High Hrothgar for the Peace Treaty meeting. Ulfric had made a minor fuss over his presence, but had given in relatively quickly after Aerik agreed to kick Elenwen from the meeting. That seemed to appease everyone. This, however, was before Aerik and Teldryn had been married.

“My _husband_ goes wherever I go,” Aerik corrected venomously. Galmar scoffed, walking out of the room, but Ulfric’s expression didn’t change.

“And what of this other elf your bring into my court?” Ulfric continued, gaze sliding lazily to Nilandur. Aerik smiled wolfishly.

“Ah, yes, Jarl Ulfric, may I introduce you to Nilandur. He’s a Psijic monk... _and my father_.”

 

The silence in the room was heavy, pregnant. The guards at the back of the room shuffled nervously and Teldryn saw Galmar’s silhouette hovering in the doorway of the room to the left of the throne. Ulfric seemed to straighten slightly, though his face remained neutral.

“So you are a half-breed, then?” he asked calmly, the slur incredibly casual on his lips. Teldryn clenched his fists, biting down on the inside of his cheek. _Don’t let him see_ , he commanded himself. _Never let him see_.

“You’re damn right I am,” Aerik nearly growled, striding more closely to the throne until he was standing barely five feet away from the Jarl.

“As pleasant as you are for idle conversation, we actually came here for a reason,” Aerik clipped. Ulfric raised an eyebrow, looking somewhat bored.

“Speak, Dragonborn,” he rumbled.

 

“Is there somewhere more private?” Aerik asked, looking over his shoulder at the guards. Teldryn saw Ulfric’s eyes narrow before he slowly began to rise from his throne.

“I assume the elves will also be joining?” he asked as he strode towards the room into which Galmar had disappeared earlier.

“You assume correctly,” Aerik shot back, looking over at Teldryn and Nilandur and jerking his head in Ulfric’s direction as a silent command to follow. Teldryn heaved a great sigh, hazarding a glance at Nilandur. The high elf had a combination of emotions on his face ranging from concern, to frustration, to fear. He shuffled behind Teldryn as they processed into what appeared to be a meeting room. A large table with a map of Skyrim sat in the center; it reminded Teldryn of Tulius’s meeting room that they’d found themselves in barely a week ago. And now here they were, on the opposite side of Skyrim with the opposite end of the war effort.  

 

Nilandur hastily closed the large wooden door behind them, wiping his palms nervously against his robes. Ulfric and Galmar moved to the opposite side of the table, literally and figuratively putting the country between them and their guests.

“Does this satisfy your need for privacy?” Ulfric asked flatly. Aerik nodded, setting his gloves down on the table across the map, almost territorially. Teldryn loved him.

“We’ve come into some startling information regarding the Thalmor,” Aerik began. Ulfric’s and Galmar’s dispositions changed immediately, both straightening up and looking slightly more attentive.

“From what we’ve gathered, it appears that they don’t just seek to spread the control of the Aldmeri Dominion, but in fact are more of a sect of religious fanatics whose goal is to attain divinity.”

Galmar looked shocked and nervous, while Ulfric simply looked thoughtful.

“Yes,” he said finally. “I know this.”

“I’m sorry, you _know_?” Aerik sputtered. Ulfric nodded, leaning forward to spread his hands out across the map on the table. He gazed pensively downward.

“I’ve known for a long time that this was their goal, Dragonborn. Those elves don’t give a damn about the welfare of our country, nor do they care about a fair and true alliance with the Empire. It is for this reason that I challenged Torygg, not simply because I desired the throne. I challenged him because he was willfully handing our people over to the Dominion; to the Thalmor. Not once have I ever regretted my decision.” He paused for a beat. “Is that the only information you have brought me today?”

 

Aerik straightened his posture, folding his hands behind his back, looking more like a soldier than Teldryn had ever seen.

“Not even the start of it. We have reason to believe that the Thalmor’s interest in Skyrim specifically is due to the Throat of the World. It is philosophically theorized to be one of the ‘Towers of Mundus’, the pillars upon which Nirn was created. The Thalmor believe that by ‘deactivating’ these towers, possibly destroying them, they can… essentially unravel our reality and return to godhood.” Aerik began to pace slightly. This information finally garnered a reaction out of Ulfric, his mouth downturned and brow creased.

“This is… new information, yes,” he ceded, standing up straight and looking to Galmar. His general looked a bit speechless.

“Their goal isn’t to just remove Talos from the Divines,” Aerik continued, leaning over the table in Ulfric’s direction, copying the Jarl’s posture from earlier. “They want to remove Man from the ‘Pattern of Possibility’. Which I assume involves genocide.”

 

“It’s not just men,” Teldryn spoke up, causing the two Nords across the table to snap their gaze to him. “Dunmer and Beastfolk are excluded from this plan of theirs as well. Bosmer are barely included, though it was implied that they could be forced into it.”      

“And how did you gather all this information?” Galmar asked, looking suspiciously at Nilandur, who continued to wring his hands nervously.

“Interrogation, the acquisition of Thalmor journals, and putting all the different pieces together,” Aerik explained. “It all began when we rescued Nilandur from Northwatch Keep. The Thalmor were holding him there as a prisoner. We assume it had something to do with him being a Psijic monk - that they were planning to use him or his knowledge in some way.”  

 

It was almost imperceptible, but Teldryn swore he saw the lines around Ulfric’s eyes soften ever so slightly as he looked to Nilandur once again.

“I know little of the Psijics,” he admitted, addressing Nilandur directly. “But I know much of being a Thalmor’s prisoner.”

Nilandur cleared his throat, averting his gaze. “Yes, they’re not very nice at all,” he agreed softly, and Ulfric’s mouth twitched into the shadow of a smile at the understatement. Teldryn wondered briefly what all Nilandur might have endured before they found him. Though he had seen no bruises or lacerations when they first found him, that didn’t necessarily mean that nothing had been done to him during his time as a captive.  

 

“I am surprised that you chose to come to me,” Ulfric said. “Though I do appreciate your trust.”

“Who said anything about trust?” Aerik countered, straightening up. He grinned mockingly. “This is pure strategy. You, of all people, should recognize that. The Thalmor are pulling the strings of the Empire right now. You were the most logical person to turn to. It was a calculated risk to come to you with this information. You’ve done nothing to prove that we can trust you. In fact, you insulted me and my companions as soon as we stepped foot in your court.” Ulfric gave Aerik a flat stare, stoic. Teldryn was beginning to admire the Nord’s ability to remain completely unreadable, making a mental note to never challenge him to a game of cards.

 

“You make a fair argument, Dragonborn,” he said at last. “Forgive my behavior from earlier. It was an unacceptable way to speak to an honored guest.”

Aerik crossed his arms, quirking an eyebrow. “I usually like flattery, Jarl Ulfric, but it’s unbecoming of you.”

“I do not deal in flattery,” Ulfric corrected. “You are the Dragonborn. You slayed the World Eater. You deserve my respect.” _Despite your heritage_ , seemed to linger unsaid in the air. Aerik inclined his head, nodding slightly.

“Kind of you to remember,” he muttered. “Nevertheless, we didn’t just come to deliver the news, we also came with the intention to help solve it. Skyrim is our home, and I also very much like Mundus intact.” Ulfric nodded thoughtfully in agreement, reaching up to pull on one of the braids in his hair.    

“I will need to hold council. Just as you cannot yet trust me, I also cannot fully trust you. No intended offence to your… father,” Ulfric seemed to grunt the title. “But he is still a golden elf.”

“I’m more than happy to prove my trustworthiness,” Nilandur spoke up, causing Aerik to shoot him a frustrated look. He mouthed the words _be quiet_ , but the damage had already been done. Ulfric made a pensive sound, eyeing the elf with barely concealed suspicion.

“In due time, monk. In the interim, I offer the three of you the guest quarters of the Palace. You are also invited to dine with us this evening. I shall call upon you tomorrow once I have consulted my advisors.”

“You’d have us simply sit around for a day?” Aerik asked, visibly annoyed.

“This is war, Dragonborn. Much of it is comprised of sitting and waiting,” Ulfric explained. “Dinner this evening will be at seven sharp. I’ll have a guard show you to your quarters.”

 

And just like that they were dismissed. Galmar cast them one last sidelong glance before following Ulfric out of the room like a surly cloud. Teldryn let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

“Well,” he exclaimed. “That could have gone much worse, if I’m honest.” Aerik laughed tiredly before shifting his demeanor and turning to point an accusing finger at his father.     

“Do not promise that man anything,” he insisted in admonition. “You don’t owe him your loyalty or anything of the sort.” Nilandur ruffled a bit, an indignant look crossing his face.

“If my being an Altmer will prevent us from gaining his aid, then I’m going to do whatever I need to prove myself trustworthy,” he shot back defiantly. Aerik pursed his lips in frustration, dropping his hand to his sides. He looked to Teldryn, who simply shrugged.

“You won’t see me kissing his arse any time soon,” he drawled, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to one foot. Aerik grinned fondly at him.

 

A guard came stomping into the room at that moment, rigidly addressing the trio.      

“Jarl Ulfric has tasked me with escorting the Dragonborn and his companions to their quarters for the evening,” he seemed to recite in his thick Nordic accent. He then proceeded to just stand there. A beat of silence passed through the room. Aerik looked at the guard expectantly, glancing at Teldryn and Nilandur once before looking back.

“Alright… I’m the Dragonborn. These are my companions. Escort away,” he prompted with a shoo-ing hand motion. The guard startled into motion, turning on his heel and walking towards a door at the back of the room. They followed the Nord up a slightly uneven set of stone stairs to the second story of the Palace of the Kings. He lead them down a short, somewhat claustrophobic stone hallway before motioning to two rooms at the end of the hall across from each other.

“Dinner will be served at seven,” he reiterated, then spun around and marched back down the way he’d come.   

“This place gets more charming by the minute,” Teldryn murmured flatly.

 

///

 

Dinner was an awkward affair. Everyone at the long table aside from Ulfric and Galmar seemed to be glaring daggers at the three newcomers, who were resolutely ignoring the cold stares. It stretched on in a long, awkward silence until apparently Aerik couldn’t take it anymore.

“Don’t you have a court bard or anything?” he asked finally, looking to Ulfric in exasperation. The Nord chewed in his direction, face placid.

“Music is a distraction,” he said finally after he’d swallowed his food.

“Nords love music!” Aerik exclaimed, throwing his hands up. Someone across the table coughed behind their hand.

“We will not have music in this hall until Skyrim is at peace again,” Ulfric insisted. Aerik dropped an elbow on the table, picking petulantly at his food.

“Well it could certainly help raise moral,” he mumbled, accepting defeat.

 

Once Ulfric was finished eating, that was apparently the signal that _everyone_ was finished eating. Teldryn had his plate snatched away by servants before he could finish his last bite. He huffed, annoyed. Nilandur seemed perfectly satisfied, however, and smiled gently in Ulfric’s direction.

“A fine meal, Jarl Ulfric. Thank you for sharing, and for your hospitality,” he commented. This earned him nasty looks from the fellow court dinner guests and a flat smile from Ulfric.

“Your manners are not unappreciated, but they are unnecessary,” Ulfric dismissed. Nilandur was unshaken, and simply nodded and smiled.

“Curbing my manners will be a hard habit to break, I’m afraid,” he laughed softly. “I apologize in advance.” When a soft, rumbling chuckle drifted over from Ulfric’s direction, Teldryn tried not to eat his shoe. He looked immediately to his husband, who was also wearing a look of suspicion and confusion on his face.

 

Everyone slowly began to trickle away from the table, though Ulfric still sat at the head, finishing the last of his mead.

“Tell me, monk, what do the Psijics believe?” Ulfric asked suddenly, just as the three of them were beginning to rise to their feet. Nilandur paused, blinking in Ulfric’s direction.

“In.. what sense, Jarl Ulfric?” he responded tentatively, slowly lowering himself back down to sitting.

“Do you believe that elves should rule over men?” he asked bluntly, but without preemptive malice. A few stragglers of the court stuck around, pretending not to listen in, though Teldryn could hear them snickering and muttering to each other quietly.

“Heavens, no,” Nilandur laughed, a light, gentle sound in the cold, hollow hall. “The Psijics were once an order who counseled Tamriel’s greatest leaders - many Psijics allied themselves with various kings and emperors in order to help aid them in making the wisest and most just decisions for their kingdoms. Above all we strive to maintain balance and peace for all the races of Nirn.” Ulfric looked thoughtfully at the mer, taking a long sip of mead. His beard glistened wetly around his mouth after he set his cup down.

“And what of the Order now?” he asked, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. Nilandur shifted awkwardly, twisting his fingers compulsively.

“Well, after one particular leader misused their allyship with the Psijics, the heads of my Order decided it best to retreat from the modern world and to study magic in isolation.”       

 

“How did this leader misuse an allyship?” Ulfric pressed. It was a dangerous question, both Teldryn and Aerik knew this. They looked at Nilandur nervously, waiting for his response. He had stopped fidgeting and was staring unwaveringly at Ulfric.

“You’ve heard of the Void Nights?” he asked. Ulfric waited a beat, then nodded. Nilandur simply inclined his head, content to let that speak for itself.

“Well,” Aerik interrupted. “This has been utterly riveting, but we’re all very tired. The ride down from Winterhold really took it out of us. So let’s just retire for the evening,” he said in an aggressively loud voice, getting up and grabbing Nilandur under one of his arms.

“Aerik, I’m perfectly capable…!” he protested as his son nearly pulled him off his seat.

“Good evening, Jarl! Thank you for your hospitality,” Aerik said with a sweeping bow. “As my father so eloquently put it.” He spoke through his teeth, dragging a struggling Nilandur behind him. Teldryn nodded once to Ulfric as he passed, who ignored the Dunmer’s presence entirely. _Don’t let him see_ , Teldryn repeated to himself, head held high as he followed his two companions into the adjoining room and up the stairs.

 

“Aerik, let go of my arm!” Nilandur demanded, finally jerking out of his son’s grip as they reached the top of the stairs. “What on Nirn…?”

“You can’t tell him shit like that,” Aerik hissed, wheeling on the mer. “In fact, you probably shouldn’t talk to Ulfric at all.”

“What…? That’s preposterous!” Nilandur objected. “Aren’t we supposed to be making an ally of him?”

“I’m still trying to figure out if this was a good idea or not!” Aerik snapped. He began to stomp into one of the rooms they’d been given for the night, Teldryn following placidly behind.

“I understand your distaste for the man, and his views on merfolk are certainly… upsetting, but I’m going to be as much of a good ambassador as I can be! We can’t prove our genuine concern if the only Altmer among us is rude and withheld, now can we?” Nilandur continued, following Aerik into the room. Aerik made a frustrated noise in response as he sat down on the edge of the bed, beginning to take off his boots.

“Okay, _fine_ , but no more talking about how powerful the Psijics are and mentioning shit like the gods damned Void Nights!” he yelled. Teldryn walked calmly over to the door and closed it. Aerik seemed to deflate slightly.

“I’m sorry. I just… I really don’t like this place,” he groaned. “It has me on edge.” Nilandure had a concerned look on his face.

“Perhaps I am naive in my trust of people,” Nilandur admitted quietly, sitting down softly next to Aerik. “But I do trust my intuition more often than not, and usually it turns out well. In the end, I believe Jarl Ulfric will prove to be a formidable ally.”

 

Teldryn still stood quietly in the corner, turning everything over in his mind. Nilandur’s words gave him a sick, sinking feeling in his stomach, but he knew the mer was right.

“I’ll agree to play nice so long as he attempts to show me even a shred of decency,” Teldryn sneered. Aerik met his eyes sadly.

“I’m sorry, Tel,” he offered softly. “This can’t be easy.”

“I’ve dealt with far worse,” Teldryn insisted with a wave of his hand, walking over to a wooden chair to sit and remove his own boots. Nilandur stood up, compulsively smoothing the wrinkles out of his long, navy robe.

“I’ll leave you both to get your rest for the night,” he said quietly, giving Teldryn a sympathetic look that the Dunmer ignored. Once the door was closed he sighed heavily, letting his head drop into his hands. He heard Aerik rise from the bed and pad over towards him.

“Hey.” His husband spoke softly as he knelt, one hand resting on Teldryn’s knee. He looked up to meet Aerik’s eyes.

“He’s not getting to me,” he insisted, feeling mildly petulant.  

“I know that,” Aerik agreed easily, to Teldryn’s immense relief. “You just stand there and look gorgeous and I’ll do all the talking going forward, okay?” He gave him a charming smile and Teldryn couldn’t help but chuckle, leaning forward for a kiss.

“I’d suggest defiling the place with our forbidden love, but I can’t say I’m particularly in the mood,” he sighed, rising to his feet and pulling Aerik up with him. Aerik leaned in and peppered his face with soft kisses, running his hand through his hair and down his neck. The tenderness was almost too much in that moment as he nuzzled and breathed against Teldryn’s temple.

“Let’s just get some rest.”        

 

///

 

Teldryn lay awake for what felt like hours, blinking up at the ceiling. Every time he tried to count backwards from ten his mind raced to a new thought or idea or plausible nightmare. Aerik slept silently beside him, turned towards the opposite wall, his breathing long and slow. Finally, unable to stand it anymore, Teldryn pulled the covers back and swung his legs off the bed. The stone floor was icy cold beneath his feet, causing a dull ache to shoot up into his knees as he stood. He shuffled over to his pack and pulled out a fresh shirt and pair of pants. After quickly lacing up his boots he slipped silently out of the room.

The halls of the Palace of the King were empty, the guards having retired for the evening. He wasn’t sure where he was going, content to meander at the behest of his restlessness. He just hoped that he wouldn’t be attacked on sight. Keeping to the shadows, Teldryn wandered through the palace, peeking into unoccupied rooms curiously and memorizing the upper floors. Soon enough he stumbled upon a room that appeared to be a small, private shrine to Talos.

The room was slightly warmer than the rest of the palace, draperies covering the stone walls, muting the chill. A few rows of low, worn wooden benches formed a center aisle leading to the statue of the god-king himself. Half-melted candles sat around the base, their wax waterfalling off the stone slab, frozen in motion. As he approached, he noticed that several mountain flowers lay at Talos’s feet, as well as an iron sword and a shield. Teldryn looked up into the statue’s emotionless eyes, sunken beneath his stone helmet.

 

“How’d you do it, you bastard?” Teldryn mumbled to himself, crossing his arms as he continued to stare upwards. He felt a presence enter the room behind him, possibly a guard about to tell him to get out or to return to his room.

“What do you see, elf?” came the unexpected rumbling voice of Ulfric Stormcloak. Every hair on the back of Teldryn’s neck stood on end, though he forced himself to remain still, taking a deep breath and willing himself to stay calm.

“I see a mortal who became a god,” he answered evenly, without turning around. “Though the Chimer Tribunal achieved the same thing.”

“They did not,” Ulfric insisted sharply. “They stole their powers.”

 

Teldryn did turn around then. Ulfric stood blocking the doorway, his usual armor and furs replaced with a thick robe and cloak. His arms were also crossed, mirroring Teldryn’s uninviting stance. Teldryn felt trapped, but not threatened. He could easily defend himself against Ulfric by relying on his magicka and nimbleness. The benches would provide good obstacles, as well as an upper ground. Though, if the man decided to Shout… well. He’d just pray to Azura that it would wake Aerik up.

“I’m surprised you know the specifics of that,” Teldryn admitted, smiling thinly. Ulfric lifted his chin, walking further into the room, sticking to the walls. The door was unblocked, giving Teldryn a small sense of relief.

“It is expected of me to know history, even of foreign lands,” he explained, and it was truly surreal to be having this conversation.

“You are correct, though,” Teldryn tilted his head slightly, looking back over his shoulder at the statue. “They didn’t come by their divinity in the same way Talos did. He is the Eight and One - the one who ascended.”

 

Ulfric remained silent for a long moment, causing Teldryn to grow bold.

“Why _do_ you hate the Dunmer?” he asked, turning his gaze back to Ulfric. The Nord regarded him cooly for a moment, arms still locked in place in front of his chest.

“Because they are a cowardly, pitiful race,” he answered so matter-of-factly that Teldryn couldn’t help raising his eyebrows in shock.

“I believe that’s a bit of an unfair generalization…” he huffed. “Our homeland was nearly destroyed. I think you’d be a little sour if that were the case.”

“I did not see a single dark elf fight alongside me during the Great War,” Ulfric pressed. _Ah_ , Teldryn thought. _So that was it then_.

“I wasn’t our war,” Teldryn volleyed back, causing Ulfric’s jaw to shift, tightening.

“That is another thing,” he growled. “Never taking a stance, never standing up for a cause, yet you turn your nose up to anything that doesn’t please your standards. You dark elves moved into Skyrim after the Red Year and refused to integrate, scorned our customs, and even refused to fight alongside us - refused to fight for your new home. This is why I cannot respect a dark elf. You have no spine,” he spat. There was more emotion in Ulfric’s face now than Teldryn had ever seen. His heart was hammering inside his chest, though he remained where he was.    

 

“Give them a reason to fight, then,” Teldryn said at last, attempting to separate himself from Ulfric’s generalizations. “I was a citizen in this city once. I know what it’s like, living in the… the _Gray Quarter_. Miserable. Pitiful, as you said. Filled with bitter Dunmer who’d rather live in squalor than attempt to start over again somewhere else. But what reason do they have to be happy here? What loyalties do they have to a city, much less a country, that spurns them for existing?”

 

Ulfric was silent, glaring at Teldryn from across the room. The old Dunmer had never been subjected to such pure, unfounded _hate_ before - it was oppressive, smothering, but it also lit a fire of rebellion in his chest. Teldryn looked back over to Talos, if only to break the tense eye contact.

“I will agree with you on one thing,” Teldryn started again. “My people have a tremendous stick up their arse. Many _do_ fall into the trap of solipsistic superiority. But where, oh where, has that gotten us?” He laughed bitterly. “In the slums.” Ulfric still said nothing, having barely moved. Teldryn turned back to look at him, surprised to see some of the fury gone from his face, though his expression was far from pleasant.

“I’m not asking you to like me,” Teldryn continued, unsure why he was still talking. “In fact, I don’t like you one bit,” he added boldly. “But Skyrim is my home. My husband is a Nord - yes, I know,” he held a hand up preemptively. “He’s only half-Nord by birth. But fully in his heart. Sons and daughters of Skyrim aren’t… just _Nords_...” He wasn’t quite sure where he was going with this, and being the only one talking was beginning to wear him down.

 

“Clearly I couldn’t sleep, and it appears you couldn’t either,” he changed the subject instead. “But I believe I should return to my room. Good evening, Jarl Ulfric.” He bowed stiffly, taking long strides towards the door. Ulfric watched him leave in silence, never moving from his spot against the far wall.

 

Once Teldryn put a great distance between himself and the shrine of Talos, he collapsed against one of the cold stone walls, back hitting it heavily. He ran a trembling hand across his face and over the scruff of his chin, letting out a slow, shaky breath. _Gods_ , he thought desperately. _What was I thinking? I’ve absolutely ruined our chance at allyship..._

 

He finally wandered back into his and Aerik’s room, utterly exhausted. His husband had barely moved since he’d left. Teldryn silently removed his boots and stripped down to his smalls, climbing back into the bed. Aerik snuffled slightly, turning over and wrapping a long, warm arm across Teldryn’s chest.

“Hmm… ‘s cold…” he murmured sleepily. Teldryn pulled him closer, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to the top of his head, inhaling the scent of Aerik’s hair.

“Love you…” Aerik whispered, falling back into sleep. Teldryn held him tightly.

 

He may have fallen asleep at one point, but it was hard to tell. The sun began to rise steadily through the tall, frosted windows, bathing the room in the cool light of morning. Teldryn felt utterly drained and entirely unprepared for whatever lay ahead of him today. Aerik began to stir and Teldryn wanted nothing more than to be back in their house in Whiterun - so much so that his chest ached just thinking about it.

 

But he wasn’t in Whiterun. He was in Windhelm, a city he hated, among people who hated him, ruled by a man who had called his entire race _spineless_. He was entangled in a web of war and intrigue: plots to destroy the known world, to unravel time itself, to murder entire races of men and mer and beast. And yet... He was married to the Last Dragonborn and, technically, the son-in-law of a Psijic monk. Ex-monk. He had survived the explosion of the Red Mountain. He saw the very gates of Oblivion open, only to be closed again. He had lost everything, picked himself up, and started over. He was a warrior, by all rights and on all accounts, Sovngarde be damned.

 

The room was lighter now, the cold chamber warmed ever so slightly. Dust motes drifted lazily in the shafts of light that trickled through the windows, bursts of sunlight piercing the thick cloud cover outside. He said a silent prayer to Azura to help guide him through the day ahead.

 

Because he was ready to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: There were definitely Dunmer that fought in the Great War - Ulfric is just a stubborn old bear and didn't _personally_ fight alongside any.  
> His confrontation with Teldryn isn't necessarily supposed to paint him as a villain, just give us all a little insight into what's going on in that thick head of his. Azura knows the man is set in his ways. 
> 
> Thanks for turning in for another chapter! Next update will be on its way relatively soon!


	9. The Jagged Crown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, hot off the press!   
> Thanks so much to [raunchyandpaunchy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/pseuds/raunchyandpaunchy) for stepping up to help give this chapter a quick beta - I'm really enthusiastic about writing this story and am incredibly grateful for everyone who's reading it, so I really want to try to up the quality of everything I'm posting! 
> 
> Happy reading!

Aerik knocked briskly on Nilandur’s door. He and Teldryn stood just outside in the hall, fully dressed with weary circles beneath their eyes. When there was no reply, Aerik knocked again before trying the handle, pushing into the guest chamber. 

“It’s empty!” he exclaimed, whirling around to look at Teldryn, panic behind his eyes. On any other day the Dunmer might have tried to offer some kind of logic or reasoning for the empty room, but he was too damn tired and honestly quite alarmed. 

 

They blew down the hallway, bustling past a rather startled guard who nearly flattened himself against the wall to allow them to pass. Aerik sprinted down the stairs, forcefully throwing the door to the meeting room open  and stomping into the main hall. Teldryn tried his best to keep up, but his arms and legs felt as if they had weights attached to them. He stumbled after Aerik, nearly running into the back of him as his husband stopped short just inside the main room. 

 

There, at the table, sat Nilandur, having a quiet and seemingly civil conversation with none other than Ulfric Stormcloak himself. Galmar also sat with them, looking at the high elf thoughtfully, almost as if he were a fascinating, non-threatening little animal. Nilandur caught Aerik’s eye and offered a gentle smile, causing Ulfric to turn around and acknowledge them. 

“Dragonborn,” Ulfric nodded. 

“What are you doing?” Aerik asked coldly, his eyes remaining locked with his father’s. Nilandur looked nervous, eyes darting between Aerik, Teldryn, and Ulfric.

“Having breakfast?” he suggested with a small shrug and wary smile. “Please, come join.” He patted the bench beside him. 

 

Teldryn’s heart was back to its furious pounding as they rounded the table. He had no possible way of knowing how Ulfric would react - if he would say anything at all. He sat down numbly beside Aerik, jaw tight, looking anywhere but in the Jarl’s direction. 

“I hope you both found rest,” Ulfric offered in his usual, monotone drawl. Teldryn’s head snapped up, looking over at the Nord with undisguised surprise. Ulfric held his gaze, steadily chewing whatever food he had in his mouth, temples pulsing in rhythm.

“Um, yeah, we did,” Aerik responded, sounding slightly suspicious. 

“Good. There is much to be done today. Your father has been generous enough this morning to provide Galmar and myself with a bit more information pertaining to the Thalmor,” Ulfric droned, pausing to take another bite of whatever meat he was eating. Meat. For breakfast. 

“Did he?” Aerik asked, his voice high and tight as he looked at his father with wide, furious eyes. Nilandur returned the look with stubborn defiance. 

“If only the elf could use his honeyed words to convince Ulfric to seek out the Jagged Crown,” Galmar said, somewhat loud and pointed. Teldryn quirked an eyebrow.  _ Honeyed words? _

“I refuse to waste our time and resources chasing a legend when we have so little of both to spare,” Ulfric replied firmly without looking at Galmar. 

“It is not just a legend! I’m positive I know of its location.”

“I’m sorry,” Nilandur interrupted. “This is the first you’ve mentioned this. What is the Jagged Crown?” 

Aerik was surprisingly the one to answer. “It’s an ancient symbol of the High King of Skyrim. Most certainly the stuff of legends.” Four pairs of eyes all trained on him. 

He shrugged dramatically. “I’m still a bard, I know my history.” He then turned back to Galmar. “But what does finding the Jagged Crown have to do with any of this?”    

 

Galmar puffed out his chest and Teldryn could feel a speech coming on. 

“The Jagged Crown is more than just a myth. It is  _ real _ , and it could legitimize Jarl Ulfric’s claim to the throne. Especially in the eyes of the other Jarls.”

“Damn the Jarls,” Ulfric interjected with a low growl. 

“They’ve demanded a moot,” Galmar explained to the trio with gruff exasperation, though he looked at Ulfric. 

“And damn the moot!” Ulfric got to his feet, pushing his chair away from the table loudly. “I won’t risk letting those milkdrinkers put Torygg’s woman on the throne. She’d hand Skyrim over to the elves on a silver platter!”

“All the more reason to obtain the Crown!” Galmar shot back. Ulfric wordlessly dismissed him with a wave of his hand, striding over to his throne and falling backwards onto it. He seemed to think deeply for a long moment, pulling at the braid near his left ear - an unconscious habit that Teldryn had begun to notice.

“You’re sure it exists?” he asked calmly, his composure returning. 

“When have I ever been false with you?” Galmar insisted, rising from his seat. Ulfric seemed to mull that question over in his head silently for a moment.

“Dragonborn,” he said at last. “If you were to retrieve the Jagged Crown, we could move forward with these matters surrounding the Thalmor.” 

Aerik bristled. “You’d send me and my companions on a wild goose chase for a crown, that may or may not exist, mind you, as a form of  _ leverage _ ? If I wanted to have my time wasted, Jarl Ulfric, I would have gone to Tullius.”   

 

Ulfric’s calm mask had returned. He regarded Aerik cooly for a moment, continuing to twist his braid. 

“If Galmar is confident that this crown exists, then I have no reason to not trust him,” he said.

“If I may, Jarl Ulfric,” Nilandur piped up, raising a finger, and all eyes fell to the Altmer. 

Nilandur cleared his throat nervously. “Might I possibly suggest that, on top of retrieving the crown, that you might also considering holding the Moot? If we are able to bring you the crown, then the chances of influencing the other Jarls to consent to your cause would increase substantially. It would still be a gamble, but a calculated one at least. Having as many allies as possible will be the most important move in rallying against the Thalmor. From what I can tell, and from what both you and Aerik have told me, Skyrim seems to be split almost perfectly down the middle as far as sympathies. Even swaying just a few more to your side would give us the upperhand in pushing the Thalmor out of the country.” He folded his hands back in his lap after he finished speaking, holding steady eye contact with Ulfric. Teldryn looked to Aerik, but his husband’s focus was trained on his father, his expression ambiguous. 

“If you bring me this crown, then I will fully consider sending word to the Jarls that I am willing to hold a Moot. But  _ only _ if you can bring me this crown.” Something about Ulfric’s tone told them that they were officially dismissed.    
Nilandur bowed slightly in his seat. “Thank you.”

 

Shaking a look of disbelief from his face, Aerik turned to Galmar. “Alright, I suppose we’re helping you get this crown,” he said with clear frustration in his tone. “Where is it located exactly?” 

“We shall make haste to Korvanjund. I believe the crown is buried with High King Borgas.” Galmar began to walk out of the main hall and towards the drawing room, still speaking. 

“I suppose he expects us to just follow him,” Teldryn grumbled as the three got to their feet. They trailed after the Stormcloak, crowding around the large map in the center of the room. 

“It is here, just on the edge of the Pale.” Galmar tapped the blunt point of his thick finger against the map just north of Whiterun hold. “If we leave within the hour we can be there by sundown. The darkness will be a great ally to us. The Imperials may have gotten the same idea and could be waiting.” 

Aerik scoffed. “Not bloody likely.” 

Galmar scowled at him. “It is always wise to overestimate your opponent’s abilities, Dragonborn. Not all of us can wield the Thu’um.” Aerik made a show of rolling his eyes, but Teldryn didn’t miss the near imperceptible smug expression that slid across Nilandur’s face at Galmar’s words.

 

“What do you need us to do, then?” Aerik pressed impatiently. 

Galmar moved his finger across the map to point at Windhelm. “We’ll meet outside the stables in no less than an hour. We’ll travel by horseback to Korvanjund. I’ll be bringing some of my best men with us to infiltrate the tomb.”  

“Is that wise?” Teldryn couldn’t help but finally speak up. Galmar looked at him with distaste. “What I mean, ” he began to clarify, “is that we usually prefer to work alone. In fact, we work fastest that way. Would bringing your soldiers really aid the situation, or would they be an encumbrance?” 

“Are you questioning my authority as second-in-command of the Stormcloak army,  _ elf? _ ” Galmar nearly spat.  

“His question was valid,” Aerik volleyed, equally hostile. The two Nords seemed to engage in a brief staring contest before Nilandur interjected. 

“What I believe Teldryn was trying to ask,” he began calmly, “is whether or not we need to risk traveling with a large party. Tactically speaking. Your authority certainly remains unquestioned.” 

 

Teldryn was truly baffled by now at the Altmer’s ability to calm these hot-headed Stormcloaks. Nevertheless, Galmar did seem to back down slightly, Aerik following suit. 

“I suppose that is valid,” he conceded. “However, I would still like to bring some of my men.”

“Then perhaps we can agree to a party of six? The three of us, and three of your men, yourself included.” Nilandur smiled pleasantly. Galmar seemed to roll the decision around in his brain, and Teldryn swore he could hear clanking sounds. Silence stretched on for a long moment, the only sounds the echoing footsteps and soft murmurs outside the room in the main hall. 

Galmar finally looked back to Aerik, determined. “Three of my men, plus myself, will be joining. I cannot risk being outnumbered by the Dragonborn and his companions. I’m sure you understand.” 

Aerik blinked in surprise, scratching his head. “Ah, yeah, that’s fair, I suppose.” He looked to Teldryn, who only had a shrug to offer in response. “I guess we’ll meet you at the stables in an hour, then.”

“Less, if you can help it,” Galmar clipped, moving towards the door. “I am going to gather my things. I shall see you shortly.” 

 

After Galmar left, the trio silently ascended the stairs towards the guest quarters. Nilandur finally spoke up once they were at the end of the hall. 

“So what is the point of this crown again? Nordic traditions are a bit beyond me.” 

“It’s all blood and honor and death and glory,” Teldryn interjected, stirring a bemused laugh out of Aerik. 

“Essentially, the Jagged Crown was worn by the first High King of Skyrim. Symbolically it would mean a lot for the other Jarls to see it in Ulfric’s possession. It would give him a huge advantage in seeking the throne, to those who still hold to tradition, at least” Aerik explained. 

“And what of those who do not hold to tradition?” Teldryn asked cynically. They had all gathered in his and Aerik’s room. Nilandur slid delicately out of his hide shoes and sat down cross-legged on the bed, looking curiously at the pair. Aerik made a frustrated motion with his arms, sighing loudly. 

“I don’t know, Tel. But,” he shifted his attention to Nilandur. “Even though I’m kind of pissed at you for getting all buddy buddy with Ulfric and talking to him without us there…” Nilandur flushed deeply, holding a hand up to his chest and looking thoroughly flustered. Aerik continued. “...I will say I’m rather impressed that you got him to even consider the Moot. That’s pretty big, I’m not gonna lie.”

“Yes,” Teldryn agreed with a sneer. “He seems to  _ like _ you. Which is utterly baffling.” 

“Well, I’m not his enemy,” Nilandur began. 

“You’re an Altmer.  _ Of course _ you’re his enemy!” Teldryn spat, slightly too loud and slightly too emotional. He pulled back, taking a deep breath. Aerik was looking at him with knowing, concerned eyes, which Teldryn pointedly ignored.

“What I mean to say is that it’s  _ good _ that he likes you. It gives us a faint advantage. And, honestly, at this point, we’ll need all the upper ground we can get.” Nilandur nodded, tucking his lips in around his teeth in an anxious expression. It looked as though he had more to say, but was physically stopping himself from speaking. He nodded again, instead.

 

“Well.” Aerik clapped his hands together. “Looks like we’re about to go tomb diving.” 

 

///

 

As it turned out, Glamar was right, the Imperials  _ did _ have the same idea. It was a slog from the moment they got there. Galmar’s soldiers consisted of a woman and two men, one of whom Aerik knew - a relatively excitable Nord named Ralof. In the end, they proved to be more useful than Teldryn was anticipating. The team fought their way into the tomb Nord style, which would not have been Teldryn’s preferred method. He and his companions stayed to the back, taking out Imperials with bows and ranged spells as Galmar’s men charged forward with loud, whooping battle cries. 

 

Korvanjund was neither worse nor better than any Nordic crypt Teldryn had found himself in over the years. It was dark and dank and flooded with draugr. On top of that, they had to deal with the waves of Imperials that seemed to linger behind every corner. Nilandur was looking more and more weary with every soldier they killed, his skills mostly put to use in healing their own motley crew any time there was an injury - he simply refused to kill anyone. After what felt like hours, they finally made their way into the innermost crypt. 

“There it is!” Galmar exclaimed, rushing forward towards the mummified corpse of the High King, Borgas. 

“Galmar, wait!” Aerik warned, but only a moment too late. In the thousands years since his death, corrupted by dark magic and decay, the High King had since become a lich. His eyes snapped open, glowing an unearthly blue as he rose to his feet. Galmar let out a roar, raising his massive war axe in response. He was too slow. The air was sucked from the chamber as the draugr released a Thu’um that sent Galmar stumbling backward, dropping his axe as he fell to the ground. 

 

Aerik rushed forward just as two more sarcophagi burst open, draugr stepping out into the small chamber. 

“Teldryn, take the two!” Aerik commanded, unsheathing his ebony swords just in time to block the downswing of Borgas’s massive greatsword, kneeling with effort as he caught it in the crook of the two blades.  

“On it!” Teldryn charged the first draugr, conjuring a phantasmal saber into his hand. The draugr growled and sputtered at him, lumbering jerkily in his direction, raising its sword. He felt an arrow plink off his armor, turning momentarily to see that the second draugr had a bow trained on him. 

“Nilandur, the second one!” he cried, hoping the Altmer would prove to be of at least  _ some  _ use in this fight. He deflected the draugr’s first attack, stepping to the left. Another arrow pinged off his armor. 

“Nilandur!” he roared angrily as he knocked his draugr’s weapon away. The thing gurgled as Teldryn plunged his blade into its chest, retracted it, and swiftly spun to decapitate it. 

 

As he wheeled around, preparing for another arrow strike, he was shocked to find the second draugr rendered motionless by what appeared to be… a massive glowing snake. The creature had wound its way around the thing’s body, pinning its arms to its side and tightening around the draugr’s neck. He looked over to see Nilandur, brow furrowed in concentration, hands mimicking the snake’s movements. 

 

A shout and the sound of swords clashing brought Teldryn back to the present. Aerik had once again side stepped out of the way of Borgas’s greatsword, but seemed to be having trouble catching his breath. Teldryn banished his sword, calling forth a bow instead. He took aim at the lich’s head and released. The spectral arrow simply plinked off the Jagged Crown, but succeeded in getting the thing’s attention. It’s head snapped in Teldryn’s direction, eyes blazing with inhuman life. Aerik took advantage of the distraction and rammed both his ebony swords into the thing’s chest, putting his foot against what was left of Borgas’s midsection to pull them out again.

“ _ FUS… RO DAH! _ ” 

The shout ricocheted sharply off the hollow walls and Teldryn couldn’t help but duck his head. The once High King was sent careening backwards, Jagged Crown dislodged from his head. He skittered across the floor, beginning to disintegrate, crumbling into nothing but dust as his corpse slammed against the far wall. 

 

The only sound left in the room was the final struggling draugr, still ensnared by Nilandur’s spectral snake. It growled and cursed in an ancient language, thrashing against its bindings. Nilandur flicked his wrists and the snake’s form faded into coils of pure magickal energy. The bright ropes of light immediately phased through the draugr, cleaving it into several, neat pieces that fell with sickening thuds to the floor. Teldryn watched the thing’s head roll todderingly across the uneven stone before looking back at Nilandur with a raised brow. The elf smiled weakly, wiping a few drops of sweat away. 

“I’m a much better healer,” he said with a chuckle. Aerik was already striding towards the Jagged Crown, stooping to retrieve it from where it had rolled into a cobwebbed corner of the tomb. He turned it over in his hands and blew across the front, wiping and pulling at some of the webs that still clung to the horns. 

“It’s kind of ugly…” he declared with an upturned lip.

 

Galmar and his soldiers remained near the entryway, staring at the three with nervous, suspicious eyes. Teldryn walked towards them, stooping to pick up Galmar’s axe from where he had dropped it. By Azura, the thing was  _ heavy _ .

“I suppose you now understand why we prefer to work alone?” he couldn’t help but ask, presenting the Nord his battle axe. The Stormcloak regarded him with open frustration, but nodded nonetheless, taking the weapon. 

“You have my respect as a warrior, elf,” was his reply, and probably the most Teldryn was ever going to get. 

 

Aerik waltzed over wearing the damn crown, his gait an exaggerated swagger. Galmar bristled; Teldryn laughed. 

“Give me that!” The Stormcloak snatched the crown off Aerik’s head, holding it with reverence, almost as if he were apologizing to it. Behind him, Ralof was doing a bad job at hiding his amusement, while the other two soldiers were staring at Aerik with undisguised fear. 

“Anything else we need to do before heading back?” Nilandur asked helpfully, lacing his fingers in front of his chest as he strolled over to join the group. 

Galmar answered with eyes still glued to the crown in his hands. “Nothing. This is quite enough.” He ran a thumb across one of the horns worshipfully. Teldryn felt an odd, nervous pull in his gut, but squashed the feeling. 

“Well I’d very much like to get back to my horse,” he said instead, pushing past the Stormcloaks and heading back the way they’d come. Aerik scampered after him, smacking his ass firmly as he trotted past. 

“You little  _ s’wit _ !” Teldryn yelled, taking off after the man, who laughed and broke into a full run. 

 

Teldryn felt like a child, but he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he chased his ridiculous husband through an old Nordic burial crypt. Regardless, he allowed himself this one blissful moment of play. Gods knew the next time they might have the opportunity. He kissed Aerik breathlessly once he’d caught up to him, pressing him up against one of the mossy stone walls. Aerik smiled against his mouth and kissed back. They only pulled away when they heard approaching footfall and trudged silently out of Korvanjund with the rest of the party, still breathless and smiling. 

 

They brought the horses closer and camped out in the front entrance of the crypt for the night. Aerik was in high spirits. He passed around mead and told the Stormcloaks stories that Teldryn had heard dozens of times - how he and Teldryn had trekked across the frozen jetties of the Sea of Ghosts to find a madman, how they’d fought off dozens of Falmer in the dark depths of Blackreach, and how he trapped and subsequently  _ rode _ a dragon to find Alduin.

“And is it true?” Ralof interjected. “Did you really go to Sovngarde and return?”

 

Aerik’s expression softened, his voice dropping low, into something Teldryn recognized as reverence - something he rarely expressed. 

“I did,” he nodded, and the female soldier gasped. 

“What was it like?” she pressed, leaning forward towards the fire. She was young, or so Teldryn thought. All humans looked young to him. But her cheeks were round and rosey, and her eyes glistened with hope. Too young to be a soldier, in his opinion.

 

Aerik did his best to describe Sovngarde, but it seemed more like a dream to Teldryn than an actual place - purple skies and crisp, cool air, a bridge made of a whale's skeleton and a test of valor to cross it, heroes of long past eating and drinking merrily in a grand hall. The Stormcloaks were enraptured. Even Galmar paused in chewing his stringy, salted venison to better hear Aerik’s story. Silence hung in the air after Aerik finished, the Nords seeming to process everything they had just heard. The fire crackled and popped, growing low, so Teldryn discreetly used a bit of his magicka to bolster it. 

“I believe we should all seek rest,” Nilandur offered after another long moment, which received a quiet murmur of agreement. Everyone shuffled into their own sleeping rolls, Galmar insisting on taking first watch. Teldryn felt the Stormcloak’s eyes on him when he and Aerik kissed goodnight, pressing themselves as close together as they could get in their sleeping roll as the fire slowly died at their backs. Now that he was finally lying down, exhaustion washed over Teldryn in waves. He fell almost immediately into a deep sleep, dreaming of purple skies.

 

\-        

 

Teldryn was the first to wake the next morning. He stepped outside to watch the sunrise, leaning casually against one of the pillars at the entrance of the crypt. He felt a presence behind him, but didn’t move to see who it was. 

“So, Aerik married you?” came a gruff, Nordic voice. He looked over his shoulder to see a bleary-eyed Ralof, half-dressed in his armor despite the bitter cold of the Pale, steam rising off his shoulders. 

“He did,” Teldryn replied, looking back out across the ruins. “He asked.” Ralof was silent for a long moment, then moved to stand beside him. 

“He and I were at Helgen together,” he said at last. Teldryn regarded his statement with a raised brow but remained silent, curious to see what else the Nord might say.

“He’s a good man.” Ralof was picking anxiously at the stone pillar, scratching some unseen blemish from the rock. 

“He is one of the best I’ve ever met,” Teldryn agreed, offering a half smile. 

Ralof cleared his throat before speaking. “I’m grateful to call him a friend.” An odd silence passed between them, giving Teldryn just enough time to wonder why exactly they were having this conversation. Ralof, however, seemed to have run out of things to say, because he simply nodded curtly at Teldryn and turned on his heel to stride back into the crypt. Teldryn chuckled to himself, once again turning his gaze back to the rising sun.  _ Nords _ , he thought, and not without a touch of fondness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell how endeared I am by Nords? No? Well, it will continue to be made obvious.


	10. The Windhelm Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CW: Explicit sexual content, consensual kink, roleplay.**
> 
> Heeey guys, welcome back. This chapter is.... well, it's kind of a nice break from all the tense political, end-of-the-world shit.
> 
> And it's like 90% smut. 
> 
> _Crab walks away_
> 
> Thanks again to [raunchyandpaunchy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/pseuds/raunchyandpaunchy) for beta reading this chapter for me!! I love you dearly, SmutMother. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

“You said you’d hold the moot,” Aerik said, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“I said I would consider it,” Ulfric corrected, inspecting the crown.

Aerik exhaled sharply. “Every day that we do nothing the Thalmor are given more time. We need to get the other Jarls on our side. We _need_ to get the Thalmor out of Skyrim!”

“I cannot risk walking into a moot without a plan.” Ulfric was startlingly patient in contrast to Aerik’s insistence. “Barely half of the holds in Skyrim support my cause. You know this.”  
“Yes, but the Thalmor…”

“The Jarls,” Ulfric interrupted, “are not going to be so easily swayed by the information we give them. To an outsider the claim sounds ridiculous. The only reason I was able to even consider it to be true was because of my own entanglements with the Thalmor.”

“Entanglements…” Nilandur repeated softly.

Ulfric’s head jerked to look at him. “What was that, monk?”

“Nothing, Jarl Ulfric. It was just… an interesting choice of words,” Nilandur said with a small, dismissive hand motion.

 

Ulfric narrowed his eyes, but looked back to Aerik and continued. “I will meet with Galmar to discuss the moot this evening. You have proven yourselves formidable and worthy of my trust and allyship. I can only aspire to prove the same to you. We are no longer simply fighting for Skyrim’s freedom. I recognize this.” He stepped away from Aerik and turned to Teldryn, looking him up and down as if appraising him. Teldryn felt his heart leap into his throat. He furrowed his brow and tightened his jaw, meeting Ulfric’s gaze without any sign of weakness.

“Galmar told me of your fierceness in battle,” he began, neutral and calm. Ulfric unsheathed the sword at his side, causing every muscle in Teldryn’s body to tense. He saw Aerik out of the corner of his eye quickly reach for his own weapon, but paused as Ulfric presented Teldryn with the sword instead.

“You have the blood of a grey elf, but fight with the heart of a Nord. Going forward, you shall be known as Fire-Veins.”

 

Teldryn felt his arms moving before he was able to actually process what was happening. He held his palms out and let Ulfric place the sword into his hands. It was a Nordic sword, finely smithed and perfectly balanced. The steel of the blade was carved with an intricate, interweaving knot pattern, bending and flowing with the sword’s curves. It was stunning. Teldryn’s eyes shot up to meet Ulfric’s: ice blue. The Nord held his gaze steadily. He hated that his first reaction to receiving a gift was suspicion, but it was.

“Thank you, Jarl Ulfric,” he said automatically, bowing his head as Ulfric stepped away. He ran a hand in disbelief across the blade, mind abuzz with questions.  

 

///

 

“Fire-Veins?” Aerik repeated, incredulous. They had made their way back up to their quarters after Ulfric had dismissed them.

“Fire-Veins…” He said again, laughing.

“This is fantastic!” Nilandur proclaimed, clapping his hands together excitedly.

“I don’t know about all that,” Teldryn muttered, giving his new sword a few experimental swings.

“Fire-Veins,” Aerik said for the third time.

“Yes, yes, it’s a stupid nickname. _We get it_ ,” Teldryn sneered, sheathing the sword and setting it on his bedside table.

“I want a stupid nickname,” Aerik lamented, falling back onto the bed.

“You have one. It’s _Dragonborn_.”

“This is tremendous progress,” Nilandur piped up again. Aerik and Teldryn turned their heads to look at him.

“You really think so?” Aerik pillowed his hands beneath his head, shifting his gaze to the ceiling.

“Of course!” Nilandur nodded sincerely. “This is an incredible shift in character for Jarl Ulfric. He’s _accepting_ you as an ally. Which means you’re establishing trust, even helping to give a face to your people. It’s a step forward. You should be very proud.”

 

Teldryn shifted awkwardly. He didn’t _feel_ proud. He felt apprehensive. Dubious. Incredibly reluctant to accept the title. He sighed, figuring it was due time he told his companions about his late-night encounter.

“The first night we were here,” he began somberly, sitting down onto the bed next to Aerik. “I couldn’t sleep. So I decided to explore the castle a bit.”

“By yourself!?” Aerik said, pushing to his elbows.

“Not one of my smarter decisions, I know, _dearest_ .” Teldryn rubbed a hand across his eyes in frustration. “But I encountered Ulfric. We had a bit of a… _discussion_.” He paused, taking a deep breath. The memory still unsettled him.

“I thought I’d ruined everything for us that night, but now he’s given me this ridiculous title and this sword. I just don’t know what to make of it, and I can’t help but feel that he’s up to something.” _Maybe this is the only way he knows how to apologize_ , Teldryn thought silently, but quickly shook the thought from his head. _Ulfric Stormcloak would never apologize_.  Aerik and Nilandur remained silent for a long moment.

“I’d say don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, for now,” Aerik said finally. “Unless it starts to buck.”

Teldryn smirked at the extended metaphor.

 

A swift knock at the door caused Nilandur to jump.

“I’ll get it,” he said, skittering over to the door and opening it delicately.

A faceless guard stood blocking the majority of the doorway, back rigid. “Jarl Ulfric invites the Dragonborn and his companions to join him for dinner.”

“Ah, thank you very much. We’ll be down shortly,” Nilandur nodded, closing the door softly after the guard had turned away. He looked back at Aerik and Teldryn, palms outstretched. “Dinner?”

Aerik sighed, looking back up at the ceiling. “I think I’m gonna pass. How are you feeling, Tel?”

“A little tired, myself,” Teldryn admitted, though it was mostly untrue. He just didn’t want to have to sit through another tense, formal meal. Nilandur nodded in understanding, clasping his hands in front of his waist.

“I’ll let him know,” he said with a soft smile.   
“Wait, you’re still going?” Aerik sat up. “You don’t have to, you know.”

Nilandur sniffed. “It would be impolite if all three of us refused.” Teldryn and Aerik exchanged glances.

“Suit yourself, then. Enjoy all the… stimulating conversation,” Aerik jeered, falling back against his pillow. Nilandur huffed, spun on his heel, and exited the room quietly, leaving them alone.

 

“Are you actually tired?” Aerik asked after a beat.

“Not really,” Teldryn replied with a grin.

“So you thinking what I’m thinking then?”

“Mmhmm…” Teldryn grabbed Aerik by his hips, pulling him across the bed. His husband made a provocative growling noise in the back of his throat.

“Old Fire-Veins is ready to get some action,” Aerik teased, running his fingers through Teldryn’s hair as he pulled him down for a kiss.

“Keep calling me that and you’ll get more than you bargained for.”  

 

They wrestled for dominance, grinding the stress of the day away between their hips, mortar and pestle, refining their worries to dust. Teldryn groaned low in his throat as he felt Aerik’s hardened length pressing insistently into the crease of his groin.  

“Have mercy, Fire-Veins,” Aerik whispered hoarsely, rolling his hips and cracking a bawdy smile. “I’m just a humble Stormcloak soldier.”

Something low and primitive stirred in Teldryn’s chest at Aerik’s words. An idea began to form in the back of his mind.

“Are you now?” He pressed Aerik into the bed, a hand on each shoulder. “Ever been with a dark elf before, soldier boy?” he asked with a sly smirk. Aerik gave him a confused look at first before a light went off behind his eyes. He bit his lip exaggeratedly, shaking his head.

“No… but I’ve thought about it, sir,” he reached his hands up to stroke the shell of Teldryn’s ears.   
“Ah ah,” Teldyrn chastised, seizing Aerik’s wrists and pinning them above his head. “You don’t get to touch unless I say so.” Aerik was grinning like a madman.

 

He swung his legs off the bed, rising to his feet and backing away.

“Get up and strip for me, soldier,” he commanded, resting his hands on his hips. Aerik scrambled to his feet, already pulling his shirt over his head.

“Make it good,” Teldryn palmed his own erection through his pants, watching with a half-lidded gaze as Aerik pretended to self-consciously strip out of his clothes. Teldryn raked his eyes across Aerik’s body, lingering on his arse as the coy bastard pivoted to step out of his pants, giving him a perfect view. Teldryn quickly turned to walk to the door, locking it.

“Nobody will be able to help you now,” he growled lowly, turning back around to see Aerik fully naked standing by the bed, covering his groin bashfully. Teldryn strode over confidently, settling in to this new persona he’d chosen for himself. He couldn’t help but channel a particularly condescending Redoran guard he’d encountered once, cocky and self-important, with just a dash of vanity.

“Mmm…” He hummed appreciatively, grabbing Aerik roughly by his jaw, pretending to inspect him. “You’re quite the specimen.” He rubbed his thumb across his lips before pressing it into Aerik’s mouth, running it across his slick, pink tongue and drawing a groan out of the man.

“Eager little slut, too, aren’t you? On your knees.” He saw Aerik’s cock twitch at the name-calling and made a mental note.

 

Aerik dropped quickly, looking up at Teldryn with reverence and anticipation.

“You’re to keep your hands at your sides,” Teldryn explained, pulling his own length from his pants, stroking it lazily. The hunger in Aerik’s eyes was all his own as he licked his lips expectantly. Teldryn grabbed Aerik’s hair roughly with his free hand, jerking his head to the side.

“Hmm… if only your superiors could see you now, huh boy? On your knees, desperate for a Dunmer’s cock.” He pressed his dick against the side of Aerik’s face, smearing droplets of precum along his jaw. His length was flushed, a dark, deep purple - in stark contrast to the golden hue of Aerik’s skin.

“Open up.” He tapped the head of his cock against Aerik’s bottom lip. Aerik’s hands shot up automatically to grab Teldryn by the hips as his jaw opened. Immediately, Teldryn stepped away, just out of reach, and slapped Aerik across the face.

“I said to keep your hands by your side,” Teldryn clipped through a sneer. The look Aerik gave him was as if the man wanted to devour him whole - his eyes glistened beneath his creased brow as a small smirk played along his lips, a bloom of rose-gold spreading across his cheek where Teldryn had struck him.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he breathed, securing his wrists behind his back. “Thank you, sir,” he added, and Teldryn felt his balls hitch a little higher at that.

 

He guided his dick forward, invading Aerik’s mouth without any hesitation or tenderness, settling his hands on either side of Aerik’s head and fucking his face with full force.

Teldryn groaned throatily. “Such a good cockslut, aren’t you?” he hissed. He felt Aerik moan around his dick, squeezing his eyes closed, allowing himself to be used. Each thrust forward into Aerik’s hot mouth produced obscene squelching noises as a steady line of saliva began to drip down his chin. Teldryn felt Aerik gag as he pushed particularly deep into his throat, and he pulled out immediately.

“Oh, you did so good,” he cooed, petting the side of Aerik’s face, wiping away the slick trail of saliva that coated his chin. The man gasped for breath, eyes glassy and cock dripping with need where it hung swollen and utterly neglected between his knees. Teldryn couldn’t help himself. He slid two fingers back into Aerik’s mouth, pressing against his tongue.

“So soft,” he rumbled. “Like you were made just for this.” He removed his fingers with a wet pop as Aerik tried to hold on with his lips, quickly replacing them with his dick again.

“Use your hands, now,” Teldryn demanded, and Aerik flew into action. One hand gripped Teldryn’s hip while the other wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking in tandem has he sucked.

“Gods…” Teldryn couldn’t help but groan, doubling over and fisting Aerik’s soft hair. “You have talent. Absolutely wasted as a soldier. What if I just kept you?” Teldryn was rambling, voice low and lust-drunk. “Kept you as my own? To use like this whenever I want.” Aerik whined, the hand at Teldryn’s hip tightening as he continued to suck hungrily. Teldryn felt himself nearing the edge and pulled Aerik off his cock with some amount of effort, forcing his head back and exposing his throat. Aerik panted, gasping ragged and loud.

 

“I think it’s high time I fuck that tight ass of yours,” he growled, and Aerik nearly whimpered as he tried to nuzzle against Teldryn’s forearms with his face.

“Yes, sir. Please, sir.” He gulped, coughing hoarsely as Teldryn released his hair.

“On the bed. On your back. I want you to see me while I fuck you. Remembering it’s a Dunmer’s cock inside you.” Aerik scrambled breathlessly over to the bed. His knees were red and indented where he’d been kneeling on the stone floor. Teldryn walked unhurried over to his pack, retrieving their vial of oil, a small cloth, and a length of rope. Aerik followed his every moment, his breath fast and heavy with anticipation.

“What are you going to do to me, sir?” he asked with a well placed whimper. Teldryn admired the effort he was putting into this little Stormcloak character. He’d have to remember to compliment him later.

 

“Since you had trouble following directions earlier, I’m going to make sure you can’t disobey me again,” Teldryn explained, throwing the rope and cloth onto the bed and gently placing the oil on the bedside table. He pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out of his pants. Aerik’s breath hitched in his throat.

“Please, sir… I… I want to touch you,” Aerik confessed like it was the most shameful thing in the world, clenching his fists tightly at his sides once before raising them hesitantly. Teldryn smiled.

“I’m sure you do.” He stopped Aerik’s hands mid-movement, grabbing him by the wrists and pinning them over his head once again, straddling his hips. “I bet you could get yourself off just thinking about having my cock in your ass, hmm? So desperate.” He huffed hotly into Aerik’s ear and the man arched up into him, straining for contact.

“Please,” he whimpered.

“You have such lovely manners for a Nord,” Teldryn cooed, transferring both of Aerik’s wrists into one hand and reaching for the rope. He began to expertly weave the rough cord around Aerik’s wrists, tightening it firmly. He saw Aerik grimace, breaking his scene. Teldryn paused, giving his husband a ‘look’. Aerik scrunched up his face and made a non-committal, side-to-side kind of motion with his head, so Teldryn loosened the ropes ever so slightly. Aerik winked playfully at him before sliding back into his persona.

 

“Please, sir, I promise to keep my hands to myself,” he begged, writhing beneath him dramatically.

“That remains to be seen.” Teldryn lashed the rope to the headboard, pulling Aerik’s arms fully above his head. Aerik arched his back, whining loudly and burying his head against his arm, toes straining as his whole body tensed. Teldryn reached over and grabbed the cloth next, shoving it roughly into Aerik’s mouth.

“Can’t have you alerting the guards, now, can we? And I very much intend to get you screaming.” Aerik breathed heavily through his nose, chest heaving. The bastard was smiling, which was breaking character. Teldryn gave him a solid slap to his other cheek for good measure. Aerik’s smile grew momentarily before he schooled his face back into an expression of submissive desire and fear. His moans were muffled against the gag as his head fell back against the bed.

 

Teldryn grabbed the oil that still sat by the bedside table, uncorking it, and pouring a generous amount across Aerik’s cock. It twitched in response where it lay, flushed and pink, against his stomach. Teldryn set the bottle back down and slid down the bed a ways. He used both his hands to thoroughly coat the man’s cock in oil with light, wringing motions. Aerik let out a genuine shout behind his gag, pressing up into Teldryn’s grasp. He slid two fingers across Aerik’s balls, gathering oil and snaking lower, pressing into the cleft of his ass to probe at his tight, hot entrance. Aerik squirmed impatiently, bending his knees and groaning as Teldryn slowly pressed into him with his middle finger, his other hand working a steady, pumping rhythm on his cock. He slowed down as he felt Aerik’s leg muscles beginning to tighten around either side of him, stirring a frustrated noise out of the man above him.

 

“Ardent little thing,” Teldryn purred, pulling back only to add a second finger into Aerik’s ass. He curled his fingers upwards and received a long, keening whimper in response, Aerik’s back mimicking the motion as he arched off the bed. Teldryn pumped at a steady, maddening pace, increasing his speed only to remove his hand completely once he felt Aerik’s muscles begin to contract. The poor man was practically sobbing after almost ten minutes of denying him release, always backing off just enough before he got close to the edge. The final time, as Aerik tensed, his body drawn as tight as a bow, on the verge of climax, Teldryn pulled his fingers out as well, and Aerik slammed his body back onto the bed, roaring in frustration behind his gag, voice breaking into a soft sob.

 

“I think you’ll learn the meaning of patience by the end of the night,” Teldryn said lowly, getting to his knees and grabbing the bottle of oil once more. He impatiently slicked himself up before grabbing Aerik by the thighs and hoisting the man against his lap. He pressed Aerik’s knees into his chest, folding him in half, as he lined himself up with his entrance, pushing in slowly. Aerik was very nearly howling, and Teldryn was internally congratulating himself for both being the reason for these noises, and for having the foresight to put a gag in his husband’s mouth.  

 

“Not even Talos can hear you, soldier,” Teldryn growled into Aerik’s ear, burying himself to the hilt with a groan. He wasn’t going to last long - he could already feel the swelling of his own climax from just holding himself completely still inside Aerik. He decided to literally and figuratively say ‘fuck it’, pulling out and slamming back in, punching a muffled shout out of Aerik. Losing what little resolve he had left, he pistoned his hips relentlessly, sweat beading at his temples. Aerik was practically yelping, eyes screwed shut, flushed pink from the chest up.

“Off you go, boy,” Teldryn panted, grabbing Aerik’s cock and milking it roughly in time with his thrusts. Aerik thrashed beneath him with hoarse shouts, bucking against him and biting down hard against the cloth gag. He felt his husband’s hot seed spilling over his hand as his muscular thighs clamped down around his waist. Teldryn practically snarled, rearing back, and finished himself off, thumbs digging into the crease of Aerik’s hips as he drove forward, losing rhythm. He came hard, doubling over and grabbing a fistful of Aerik’s hair as he groaned through clenched teeth, hips stuttering to a halt.

 

They stayed unmoving for a long moment, each breathing heavy and loud in the silent room. Teldryn finally pushed himself up, smoothing down Aerik’s hair where he had been gripping it tightly. He patted his cheek gently, removing the gag.

“Good boy,” he said breathlessly, and Aerik began to laugh, giddy and delirious.

“Holy fuck… holy shit…” he panted. “How have we never done that before?”

“Lacking the proper inspiration, I suppose?” Teldryn offered with a tired chuckle, leaning down to kiss his husband properly.

“Untie me, please,” Aerik asked sweetly after they pulled apart, wiggling his torso a bit. Teldryn laughed hoarsely, slowly pulling out with a groan. He quickly undid the quick-release knot, knowing Aerik could have untied himself had he really wanted to.

 

“I would absolutely kill for a bath,” Aerik lamented sluggishly, rubbing his wrists where they had been bound. Teldryn kissed the center of his chest fondly, using the rag that was in Aerik’s mouth to wipe up the mess they’d made, most of which was all over Aerik.

“Surely this godsforsaken place has a bath,” Teldryn scoffed. He looked around the room, sighing when he saw nary a wash basin.

“Fucking Nords,” he mumbled under his breath. Aerik slapped him playfully on his thigh, cracking a sideways smile.

“I’m going to go ask a guard,” Teldryn decided, getting up off the bed with some effort.

“Like that!?” Aerik yelped, scandalized before shifting his tone to something dangerous. “I dare you to.”

Teldryn let out a barking laugh. “You wish, you depraved lecher.”

“I like when you call me names,” Aerik confessed, and Teldryn wanted to fuck him all over again.

“Easy now,” he chuckled, stroking a few damp fingers across Aerik’s cheek before leaning in to kiss him again. “Just relax and I’ll be back in a few moments. You put in quite the work, soldier,” Teldryn rumbled against Aerik’s mouth, causing the man to groan.

“I’m ruined for sex going forward,” he whined as Teldryn moved to get dressed. Teldryn just chucked in a self-satisfied kind of way, stepping back into the pants he’d let fall to the floor from earlier.

He looked around the room, hands on his hips. “Where in the blazes did I throw my shirt?”

“You could always wear mine?” Aerik teased, dipping an arm down off the bed to scoop up his own discarded shirt. It would be suspiciously large on Teldryn, but he was feeling untouchable at the moment. He took the thin, linen shirt from his husband’s fingers and pulled it over his head. Aerik watched him dress, biting his lower lip salaciously, still lust-drunk it seemed.

“Don’t take too long, yeah?” he prompted, voice low and raspy. Teldryn finished lacing up his boots and strode over to where Aerik still lay naked across the bed. He ran a hand through Aerik’s sex-tousled hair, leaning down to capture his mouth again, finding it absolutely impossible to keep his hands off the man.

“I’ll be back in no time,” he assured with one final peck.

 

///

 

“I’m sorry, the bath is reserved for Jarl Ulfric’s court only,” the guard responded without hiding the blatant distaste in his voice.

“I’m not trying to pull rank here,” Teldryn growled. “But we’re his guests. And the Dragonborn would like a bath.”

The guard held firm.“It is not within my power to grant you permission.”

Teldryn quirked an eyebrow. “I suppose I’ll just have to ask Jarl Ulfric myself, then. Where is he?”

“He is in his quarters, but you should not… wait!” The guard scrambled after Teldryn as he promptly turned and strode quickly down the hall. Teldryn had a vague idea of where he was going based on his late-night meanderings two nights before. He felt a nervous pull in his gut when he passed the shrine of Talos, but kept marching forward. The guard was babbling behind him, talking about protocol and respect and yadda yadda. He finally reached the two massive oak doors that lead into Ulfric’s personal chambers - one of which was ajar.

 

Teldryn leaned in and knocked lightly, peering into the room through the slight opening.

“Jarl Ulfric?” he called out, pushing the door open, figuring the Nord would have fully closed his doors had he wished not to be disturbed. Upon entering the room, Teldryn blinked a few times to process what he was seeing. Ulfric sat at a small table, still in the midst of a meal, joined by none other than Nilandur, who at least had the decency to look embarrassed. The Altmer had a book in his lap and a piece of bread in the other hand and looked at Teldryn as though he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

“I apologize if I’m interrupting,” Teldryn drawled with a quirked brow, fixing Nilandur with a questioning look. The guard burst in behind him.

“I’m sorry, my Jarl,” he exclaimed. “I tried to stop him.”

“Fire-Veins,” Ulfric nodded in recognition, and Teldryn felt his face and ears heat up. _Shit_ , he thought frantically, _that name is ruined_.

He cleared his throat. “Like I said, I’m sorry to interrupt, but Aer- _the Dragonborn_ was wondering if it would be possible to use the bathing facilities? Your guard here told me it was reserved for your court only, so I took it upon myself to seek your permission.”

 

_The old Dunmer is feeling bold tonight_ , Teldryn thought to himself.

Ulfric sat his utensils down, nodding once. “Of course. You are honored guests.” Teldryn couldn’t help but glance at the guard smugly, who he could tell thoroughly hated him now.

Ulfric turned his attention to the guard as well. “Send an attendant to ready a bath,” Ulfric demanded.

“Yes, sir!” The Nord straightened up, spinning on his heel and exiting the room. Teldryn bowed his head respectfully. “Thank you very much. I’ll leave you to your meal.” He threw Nilandur one final look that he hoped said _‘we’ll talk later’_ , before trailing after the guard.

 

The bath room was incredibly cold. Teldryn shivered reflexively as he followed the guard into the dark, dank chamber. One lone bathtub sat against the far wall; a fairly large stone basin, but too small for two people to fit comfortably.

“The bath will be ready in half an hour,” he explained in monotone. “An attendant will be by shortly to fill the tub and to supply the Dragonborn with fresh towels and soaps.”  

Teldryn smiled thinly. “Thank you kindly. I’ll be off to fetch my husband, now.” The guard made some kind of indistinguishable noise behind his helmet as Teldryn backed out of the room and sprinted nimbly back up the stairs. Aerik was still sprawled naked across the bed when he re-entered the room, snoozing lightly. Teldryn felt his cock twitch at the sight of him.

 

“My love,” he said lowly, sauntering over to the bed. Aerik cracked an eye open to look up at him.

“Hey there, handsome,” he replied through a yawn. “Any luck?”

“I had to bust down Ulfric’s door myself, but yes.” Teldryn sat down on the bed, running a hand across Aerik’s chest hungrily. He let his fingers trail downwards towards his husband’s dick, brushing across the coarse, golden hair that trailed down Aerik’s lower stomach, running his fingertips across his softened length.

“He’s a little sore,” Aerik admitted with a smirk.

Teldryn pulled his hand away, chastened. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Aerik shot back with a cheeky grin. “I’m just saying that I might not be up for round two tonight.” He paused, smile widening. “But we’ll see how I’m feeling after this bath.”

“I wouldn’t expect much.” Teldryn got to his feet, stretching his arms up over his head with a long groan. “The bathing room left much to be desired.”

“Well, after experiencing the baths of Markarth, everything is lacking,” Aerik chuckled, pushing himself up to a sitting position and swinging his legs off the bed.

 

Teldryn stood awkwardly in the center of the room for a moment, weighing his next sentence appropriately.

“Your…. uh... “ He cleared his throat and started over. “Nilandur was with Ulfric. In his personal chambers.” _Fuck_ , that wasn’t how he wanted to say that. Aerik’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

“In what respect!?” he demanded, rising to his feet.

Teldryn held up his hands in a calming motion. “They were just eating dinner, love. Nothing obscene.”

“Uhg…” Aerik scrubbed at his face in frustration, walking across the room. “Why does he like that guy so much? What do they even talk about?”

“Well, I guess they are technically both… ex-monks, in a certain respect,” Teldryn offered, giving Aerik pause.

“Damn, I hadn’t even thought of that,” he admitted, pulling a change of clothes out of his pack. “And I guess Psijics were once…” He swirled his hand in the air, as if trying to materialize the right word. “Councilors. To kings and such.”

“It’s alright to feel apprehensive about it,” Teldryn said. “I do.”

“Oh thank the gods, I’m glad it’s not just me.” Aerik exhaled loudly, stepping into his pants. “Nilandur hasn’t given us any reason to distrust him, but we’ve known him for, what, a week and a half, tops? I just don’t like it. I don’t like that I don’t like it. But I still don’t like it.” Aerik nodded definitively, and Teldryn laughed, moving forward to caress either side of Aerik’s face and pull him down for a kiss.

“You have such a way with words,” he murmured against Aerik’s mouth.

“Well, I am a college-trained bard.” He grinned, running his hands across Teldryn’s shoulders and down his back. “Bath?”

“They said it would be ready in half an hour, but let’s head down there regardless.”

 

///

 

The room seemed to have gotten even colder by the time Teldryn and Aerik had made their way back down to what they could only assume was the basement. Aerik ran his hands over his arms vigorously, chattering his teeth.

“I’m half Nord and this place is fucking freezing,” he exclaimed. Wordlessly, Teldryn produced large flames in each hand, letting them burn hotly for a moment before pulling his magicka back every so slightly. Aerik beamed.

“I was going to suggest we warm it up in a different way, but that works so much better.” He wiggled his eyebrows lecherously. Teldryn gave him an amused, sidelong glance, walking over towards the tub. It had been filled almost to the brim. He extinguished the flames in one of his hand and dipped a finger in.

 

“ _B’vek_ , the water is _fucking_ cold!” he raged. Before Aerik could even respond, Teldryn plunged both his hands into the icy water, inhaled deeply, and released as much magicka as he could. The water roiled around him as steam slowly began to curl upwards into the air. Finally he pulled his hands out, shaking the excess water off as the last droplets evaporated off his skin. Aerik was looking at him slack jawed.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” he admitted.

Teldryn shrugged, looking at his hands. “Honestly, I didn’t know if it would work. I was just angry,” he laughed, dipping a finger into the now pleasantly hot water. He held a hand out to Aerik.

“Dragonborn?” he offered cordially with a coy smile. Aerik quickly pulled his shirt up and over his head, beaming.

“Fire-Veins,” he replied, bowing extravagantly.

Teldryn groaned. “Ulfric called me that earlier. It’s officially ruined.” Aerik cackled with glee as he stepped out of his pants and took Teldryn’s hand, steadying himself as he stepped into the large tub. He hissed at the heat, which devolved into a low, satisfied groan as he sunk further into the water. Teldryn removed his own shirt, looking around for whatever soaps or oils they might have provided them with. He spotted a rather lumpy bar of soap next to some ragged towels on a wooden shelf off to the side of the room.

“Such luxury…” he mumbled in frustration. The soap smelled of pine and juniper, which wasn’t too unpleasant, but just so distinctly _Nordic_.

“You getting in with me?” Aerik asked, his speech already slurring slightly from the heat.

“Let’s get you cleaned up first,” Teldryn insisted, pulling up a stool to sit by the tub.

 

He dunked his hands into the water, lathering the soap between his palms, before setting about washing Aerik’s neck and chest. His husband sighed - a lovely, grateful sound.   
“I don’t deserve you,” Aerik whispered dryly, and Teldryn knew it was one of the man’s odd ways of giving a compliment, but it still made his chest ache.

“Of course you do,” he countered, scrubbing his fingertips across Aerik’s scalp, working the soap into a foam in his short, blond hair. He leaned in and kissed Aerik firmly on his temple, getting soap on the end of his nose in the process. He rubbed it away on his upper arm, continuing his ministrations.

 

Aerik sighed again, eyes closed, surrendering completely to whatever Teldryn deemed fit. It was in these quiet moments that Teldryn felt truly grateful for the relationship they had fostered - the trust, the respect. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d craved such things until he had them every day in his life. He couldn’t imagine a world without them, now. He rinsed the soap out of Aerik’s hair, combing his fingers through his locks until the water ran clean. He pressed his face against Aerik’s, just holding him, overwhelmed with love and affection to the point where he didn’t know what to do.

 

“You gonna get in here, now?” Aerik asked sleepily, and Teldryn laughed, pulling away to stand up and remove his pants.

“I’ll barely fit,” he argued, stepping into the tub regardless. The water felt fantastic, and he congratulated himself once again on his newfound ability to make life more pleasant for them. He eased himself down, pressing his cheek to Aerik’s shoulder and draping an arm over the side of the tub, water spilling over the edges and onto the cold, stone floor. It was cramped, but it was also perfect. He felt Aerik press a kiss against his forehead and his heart constricted with adoration.

“I love you,” he murmured against Aerik’s neck. His husband’s long, warm arms snaked around his torso, pulling him closer.

“I love you, too, gorgeous,” he whispered into Teldryn’s hair.

 

They stayed like that until Teldryn felt his fingers beginning to prune and he began to teeter dangerously into the realm of sleep. He finally pushed himself upright and began to wash again in earnest. Aerik blew soap bubbles and made Teldryn laugh with stupid jokes and they eventually removed themselves from the blessed warmth of the water and toweled off. They made their way, sleepy and heat drunk, back to their room. Nilandur’s door was closed with the lights out, Teldryn noted. He pushed that particular issue to the back of his mind and allowed Aerik to lead him to bed, wrapping Teldryn up in his long arms like a clingy netch. Experimentally, Teldryn held a hand up, reaching into the aether with his magicka, feeling the heat of every candle that lit the room pulsing gently, pushing back. With a snap of his finger they all went out, leaving the two men to sleep in cool, calming darkness.      

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was lots of fun to write. Honestly, these two make my heart ache. 
> 
> But NILANDUR, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?? EATING FOOD WITH ULFRIC??? BEING FRIENDLY???? That's not how things are done in these here parts. Don't you know that unconditional hate is the new trend of the times? 
> 
> Stay tuned, good people. The plot picks back up full force next chapter. 
> 
> (Also! Be on the lookout for an art-update chapter. I have a lot of little drawings of all these lovely characters, some of which I've posted on my Tumblr, but others that I don't feel like the little baby website can handle anymore. So yeah!)


	11. Trials of St. Alessia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta read by the ever lovely [raunchyandpaunchy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/pseuds/raunchyandpaunchy) !!   
> (〃‿〃✿)

 

“I think we should visit Paarthurnax,” Aerik suggested after breakfast. 

Teldryn raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t that mean going to the very place that the Thalmor are theoretically trying to destroy?”          

“Yeah, well, we should at least let him know. If he doesn’t know already. He’s a cryptic old bastard, but I’d hate for his house to fall down around him.” 

 

They sat in the main hall, Nilandur to Aerik’s right and Teldryn seated across the table from them. Ulfric sat in his usual seat at the head of the table, seemingly invested in a book and ignoring their conversation.  

“Who’s this we’re talking about now?” Nilandur asked. Teldryn gave him a flat look, which Nilandur took note of and averted his eyes. They still hadn’t spoken about him casually having dinner in Ulfric’s private quarters last night, but Teldryn wasn’t going to let it go until he had answers. 

“He’s the leader of the Greybeards,” Aerik began. “A sect of…”

“I know who they are,” Nilandur interrupted with a wave of his hand before looking slightly sheepish. “I mean. I’m aware of them,” he amended. Ulfric made a huffing noise from where he sat, closing the book and setting it on the table. 

“I never got to meet Paarthurnax,” he mused. “Though I don’t know how anyone could survive at the summit of the Throat of the World.” He looked to Aerik, as if prompting him to elaborate. 

Aerik crossed his arms, challengingly. “Yeah, well, he’s a really tenacious guy.”

“So it would seem,” Ulfric conceded, beginning to rise from his seat. He turned his attention to Nilandur. 

“Galmar and I will be meeting at nine sharp in the drawing room.”

Nilandur nodded. “I shall be there.”

 

Ulfric walked away, and Aerik waited a beat before whirling on his father, grabbing him roughly by the shoulder. 

“We need to talk.  _ Now _ ,” he hissed, releasing his grip just as aggressively before getting to his feet and striding out of the hall. Nilandur drew himself up straighter, looking stubbornly dignified as he massaged his shoulder where Aerik had grabbed him. He looked to Teldryn who offered no sympathies, but instead simply got  to his feet and followed his husband.

 

///

 

“I want to trust you, Nilandur, I really do,” Aerik began. He was pacing their room. Nilandur sat primly on the bed, hands folded in his lap, eyes following Aerik’s movements. 

“How have I possibly given you a reason to distrust me?” he asked calmly, but with undisguised hurt. 

Aerik scoffed. “Literally fraternizing with the enemy, perhaps?”

“You need to stop thinking about him in those terms.” Nilandur clasped his hands together. “He is not our enemy. We decided that upon our agreement to even come here in the first place. Back when we were in Whiterun, don’t you remember?”

 

Teldryn, in fact, did  _ not _ remember, but quickly realized that Nilandur and Aerik had hours worth of conversations without him. Aerik waved his hand dismissively, clearly frustrated beyond logic.

“Just... tell me, do you even know anything about him? About the things he’s done? The  _ crimes _ he’s committed?” Aerik pressed, still pacing. 

“I do,” Nilandur nodded slowly. 

“And you’re fine with all that?”

Nilandur wrinkled his brow in concern. “Of course I’m not  _ fine _ with all that, as you say,” he sputtered. “But a person’s past does not dictate their future! Yes, I  _ know _ about his crimes. How he killed the High King… I know about what he did in Markarth...” Nilandur seemed to trail off, a distant, disturbed look in his eyes. 

“I’m sure he told you all about it, yeah?” Aerik continued, still fuming. “Painting himself to be some fantastic war hero, doing what he  _ must _ to save Skyrim and all that rubbish.”

“He did no such thing!” Nilandur exclaimed, rising to his feet.

“Why are you defending him?” Aerik almost seemed to plead. “Why are you…. you’re not… you don’t have  _ feelings _ for him, do you?” His expression was that of open disgust, which Teldryn thought was a little cruel. Nilandur bristled, neck and face flushing into a deep, golden bronze.            

“Am I allowed to show another person basic compassion without you…  _ debasing _ these gestures? Turning it into something lewd?” Teldryn could see him physically shaking with anger.

Aerik sneered. “Yeah, well, you aren’t exactly  _ acting _ like someone who doesn’t have ulterior motives, what with stealing away to his bedchambers at night.”

 

Nilandur stormed out of the room at that, slamming the door behind him, which was honestly no louder than how Aerik usually closed doors. Aerik remained facing towards the bed, breathing heavily, fists clenched tightly at his sides. Teldryn shifted where he was still leaning against the wall. 

“That was a bit unfair of you, Aerik,” he hazarded.

Aerik whirled on him, nostrils flaring. “What, you’re on  _ his _ side?”

“Don’t try to start with me. You know better.” 

Aerik visibly recoiled, though his expression was still indignant. “So what would you have done differently, exactly?” He strode angrily to the opposite side of the room. 

“Well, firstly,” Teldryn began, following him slowly, “I wouldn’t have accused him of wanting to sleep with the man. That’s a bit petty.  _ Especially _ if you’re trying for logic.” Aerik refused to look at him, sitting down on the bed and facing away. 

Teldryn continued. “Secondly, I probably would have asked him  _ why _ Ulfric invited him to the meeting with Galmar instead of accusing him of traitorous intentions.”    
“I don’t like when you talk to me like I’m an  _ idiot _ ,” Aerk spat over his shoulder, barely looking at Teldryn.

“Aerik…” Teldryn sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. “I’m not trying to make you feel like an idiot. You asked me what I would have done.” 

“Well maybe use a different tone,” Aerik insisted petulantly, still facing away. Teldryn let his arms fall against his thighs with an exasperated clap, looking around the room at whatever unseen audience might bear witness to his plight. He thought about arguing, but stopped, taking a long breath.

 

“I think visiting Paarthurnax is a good idea. Even if it does mean trampsing halfway across the country,” he said instead. Aerik remained silent. Teldryn walked softly around the bed, sitting down beside Aerik, who looked down pointedly at his own feet, eyebrows creased.   
“I’m not your enemy,” Teldryn murmured. “I’m your ally. Always.” Aerik reached over, taking Teldryn’s hand into his own, still avoiding looking at him. 

“What should I say to him?” he asked after a long moment’s pause. 

“Maybe try ‘I’m sorry’?” Teldryn suggested with a dry laugh. Aerik did look at him then, aggravated. 

Teldryn squeezed Aerik’s fingers tightly. “Listen to him, love. Let him explain his side of things. I’m not happy with him either, but all we have are our biases. Nilandur is… unique in this sense. He’s a blank slate.” 

“I’m… sorry,” Aerik grumbled, looking so thoroughly miserable that Teldryn couldn’t help but lean over and plant a kiss on his temple. 

“Apologize to your fa-… your  _ friend _ ,” he amended quickly. “Don’t punish Nilandur for Ulfric’s crimes. He’s only just walked into this mess. Despite how it may appear on the outside, I do think he’s trying his best to be useful.” Teldryn squeezed Aerik’s hand before rising to his feet. “Besides, Ulfric did give me a stupid nickname and a nice sword, so we should probably make an attempt to be nicer to the man.” This got Aerik to smile, if only a little bit, and Teldryn felt thoroughly accomplished.

 

He caught Aerik’s arm as his husband stood, pulling him in for a kiss. Aerik positively melted against him, throwing his arms around Teldryn’s shoulders and sighing heavily. 

“You’re way too good at that,” Aerik murmured. 

“At what, exactly?” 

“Calming me down.” Aerik pressed their foreheads together, closing his eyes. 

“Well,” Teldryn chuckled. “You give me plenty of opportunity for practice.” Aerik stuck his tongue out peevishly and Teldryn squeezed his ass in retaliation, giving it a light smack as Aerik stepped away.

“Go be a grown-up.”

Aerik sighed dramatically. “If I must…”              

  
  


Teldryn leaned just out of sight along the wall, arms crossed, as Aerik knocked gingerly on Nilandur’s door. There was the sound of swishing fabric before the door opened rather swiftly.    
“I… apologize for my reaction,” Nilandur began almost immediately, before Aerik could even speak. “It was rude and I became flustered and…”

“Whoa, hold on,” Aerik interrupted, holding a hand up with a half-cracked smile. “You don’t get to apologize before I get to apologize, that’s not fair.” Teldryn heard Nilandur let out a shaky breath that might have also been a laugh. 

 

“Can we… try this again?” Aerik offered. There was only a moment’s pause before Aerik stepped through Nilandur’s door and it clicked shut behind them. Teldryn exhaled, content to let the two work it out on their own. He sauntered back into their room, grabbing  _ The Book of the Dragonborn _ off one of the end tables and sinking down onto the bed with a groan. He didn’t bother to take his boots off as he reclined, opening the book and beginning to skim lightly. He was surprised that he never bothered to read the thing before, though he considered himself to be at least a tertiary scholar of sorts, what with being  _ married _ to the last Dragonborn. He licked his thumb, turning to the next page. 

 

_ “Akatosh, looking with pity upon the plight of men, drew precious blood from his own heart, and blessed St. Alessia with this blood of Dragons, and made a Covenant that so long as Alessia's generations were true to the dragon blood, Akatosh would endeavor to seal tight the Gates of Oblivion, and to deny the armies of daedra and undead to their enemies, the Daedra-loving Ayleids."  _

 

“Hmph…” Teldryn huffed aloud into the room. If Akatosh and Auri-El were supposedly the same entity, then why, oh why, would the beloved god of the Altmer give such a fantastic gift to the races of men? Was it really pity? If so, why destroy Lorkhan and abandon creation if, eventually, the great Dragon God would double back and willingly give some of his precious essence to these ‘abominations’ he was tricked into making? Teldryn had questions, clearly. Things weren’t adding up - but when did religion ever truly make sense? It was all a complex labyrinth of contradictions and convoluted metaphors. He tended to deal in absolutes and physical proof, which Azura, at least, had been able to provide for him at one point or another. He flipped forward a few more pages. 

 

_ “Lastly, we come to the question of the true meaning of being Dragonborn. The connection with dragons is so obvious that it has almost been forgotten - in these days when dragons are a distant memory, we forget that in the early days being Dragonborn meant having "the dragon blood".”    _

 

An odd shiver ran through Teldryn’s body. He closed the book and stared unfocused at the opposite wall. Every now and then it was easy to forget how powerful Aerik was, especially on his off days like today. Sometimes, Teldryn thought, it seemed like even Aerik himself forgot exactly what he was capable of. As if on cue, his husband shuffled back into their room, looking slightly sheepish.

“They’re… meeting to discuss the moot,” he explained. “Ulfric wanted Nil there to give an unbiased perspective.” 

“Really?” Teldryn quirked an eyebrow. “Perhaps Nilandur isn’t the only one we’ve been underestimating, then.”

“I trust him. I really do.” Aerik ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just still don’t trust Ulfric. But I don’t want to push Nilandur away because of that. I... don’t really know what to do.”

 

Teldryn swung his legs off the bed, pushing himself up to stand. He sat  _ The Book of the Dragonborn _ on the bedside table and walked over to Aerik.

“Is it a gut feeling?” he asked. Aerik nodded, staring off into the distance. Teldryn hummed in recognition in the back of his throat. 

“Well, your intuition has been correct enough times for me to lean in your favor.” Teldryn ran his hands along the outside of Aerik’s arms. 

“I just don’t want to see him get hurt,” Aerik sighed. 

Teldryn nodded, but continued. “He’s wiser than you give him credit, I believe. Sure, he’s been locked away on some island, but that doesn’t negate any worldly experience he’d had before that.”

 

Aerik took a deep breath, eyes refocusing on Teldryn, an unsure smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“You really think visiting Paarthurnax is a good idea?” They were switching subjects - probably for the best. 

Teldryn nodded. “I do. I believe we’ve hit a wall with our resources.”

“Well, let’s make sure we have a nice list of questions to ask,” Aerik laughed. “So we don’t hike halfway across Skyrim unprepared.”

Teldryn smiled, clapping Aerik on his shoulders encouragingly. “Let’s get to it, then.” 

  
  


Teldryn pulled out Ancano’s journals as well as the notes they’d made concerning them. They’d still need Nilandur to translate any new pages they wanted to read, but could work with what they had for now. Teldryn also grabbed  _ The Book of the Dragonborn _ , turning to the prophecy. They gathered around a small table, clearing it of its plates and cutlery. 

 

“So let’s just re-hash what we know so far,” Aerik began, tapping his quill tip against his bottom lip.

 

“Firstly, the Thalmor are attempting to attain divinity. They believe the means to do so is through destroying the Towers of Mundus.”

“Reach heaven by violence...” Teldryn mumbled numbly, his vision blurring. Aerik snapped his gaze to look at him. 

“What was that?”

Teldryn shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Nothing… just, something I hadn’t thought about. We can come back to that.”     

“Alright,” Aerik said slowly, not looking entirely convinced. “So they’re possibly going to try to bring down the Throat of the World. They need an incredible power source in order to do that, which was originally the Eye of Magnus, but now is possibly Nilandur?” 

“That’s a lot of speculation,” Teldryn pointed out. “I think you may be jumping to one too many conclusions with that.” 

Aerik tapped Ancano’s journal aggressively.  “Am I? Because he seemed kind of explicit.” 

“He was also going mad, if your side of the story is true.” 

“Regardless.” Aerik looked mildly frustrated. “Ondolemar was saying similar stuff as well.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “Alright, you’re really going to have to explain that thing you said a moment ago. ‘Reach heaven by violence.’ What is that?” 

 

Teldryn shifted back in his chair, crossing and ankle across his knee. 

“It’s from the Thirty-Six Lessons of Vivec… I’ve honestly only read through it once, and it was more out of cultural obligation than actual interest. It’s overly flowery and so muddled with metaphor that it’s nearly impossible to decipher.  I just remember that phrase. It stood out to me.” Aerik was steepling his fingers in front of his mouth, nodding as Teldryn spoke, eyes focused somewhere over his shoulder. 

“Do you have a copy?” 

“Yes, but it’s back in Whiterun,” Teldryn shrugged. “It may be a dead end.” 

“We should look into anything and everything at this point,” Aerik argued. “Plus, stopping by the house before heading up to High Hrothgar would be smart.” He shook his head, turning his attention back down to his journal. 

“So as far as what we’re looking to ask Paarthurnax - maybe get some more clarification on what these ‘Towers’ actually are?” 

“I think Urag gave us a fairly good definition, but a dragon’s perspective might be nice,” Teldryn smirked. 

“So specifically the Snow Tower, then. Considering he lives on top of it I’d like to think he might know a thing or two.” Aerik took a moment to scribble something into his journal. 

 

“I also want to ask about the ‘stone’ that Ancano mentions,” Aerik continued. “His journal said something about the Snow Tower’s ‘stone’ being… ‘the cave’? That definitely makes no sense.”

“If the ‘stone’ of the Red Mountain was the Heart of Lorkhan, then that tower is most certainly deactivated,” Teldryn mused, rubbing absently at his chin. “And look at the result of that happening.” Aerik nodded silently, still scribbling. 

“I guess that’s a good place to start,” Aerik sighed, closing his journal with a snap. “I feel like once we get him talking, he’ll be able to give us plenty of information. I’m not entirely sure how old Paarthurnax is, but I’m pretty sure he’s  _ fucking  _ old.”

“Is that your unit of measure for age?” Teldryn teased, cocking his head to the side. 

“Yes. I think you probably fall under the category of…  _ old as dirt _ ,” Aerik grinned toothily. Teldryn regarded him from beneath half-lidded eyes, tapping a finger against his jaw. 

“If you keep disrespecting your elders like that, you’re going to have to be punished.”

“Oh, I certainly hope so…” 

 

Teldryn could tell that they weren’t going to get anything else done. 

 

///

 

“I’m going to stay here,” Nilandur said. 

 

Aerik could hardly contain the look of surprise, though he didn’t seem nearly as angry as Teldryn might have expected. “Why?” he asked, shifting his pack to the other shoulder. Nilandur stood rigidly in the doorway to their room.

“I want to aid Jarl Ulfric in organizing the moot. I feel as though he could continue to benefit greatly from a neutral perspective. He’s been so close to the situation for so long. I believe we’ll have a better chance of convincing the Jarls to meet if I’m able to offset any of his lingering biases.” The Altmer was nervously straightening the cuffs of his robes and smoothing down invisible wrinkles. 

“And he agreed to this?” Teldryn couldn’t help but ask. 

Nilandur nodded. “He did.” His small smile was one of self-satisfaction. Of victory. 

Aerik let out a long breath, scratching his head. “Well… if that’s really what you want.”

“It is, Aerik. I promise. I feel so... “ He paused, seeming to think through his words. “This is what Psijics  _ did _ . I’m not like you or Teldryn. I’m not a fighter or an adventurer. I’d only slow you down. At least here I can be  _ useful _ .”

“You are useful!” Aerik argued, but Nilandur just smiled, somewhat sadly.

 

“I will ask a favor of your two, though,” he added, shifting slightly. 

“Of course,” Aerik replied, allowing his pack to drop to the ground for the time being. Nilandur wrung his hands nervously, gazing at the floor. 

“Would you two be able to speak with Jarl Balgruuf? I suggested that the moot might be best held in Whiterun, considering it’s neutrality in the war at present. Plus it presents a centralized location. I know you are a Thane, so he might be more willing to speak to you and  _ listen  _ rather than running a poor courier back and forth.” 

“Well,” Aerik raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms. “You certainly are getting up to date on your Skyrim politics, aren’t you?” 

Nilandur tucked a strand of hair behind his ear compulsively, shrugging with a small smile. “Sorry to say that my…  _ stealing away _ to Jarl Ulfric’s bedchambers at night is not nearly as exciting as you’d like to think,” he said with a small chuckle. Aerik laughed openly, throwing his head back - the relief was palpable, and Teldryn couldn’t help but smile a little as well. 

 

“If all goes according to plan, I’m hoping we’ll have the logistics worked out by the end of the week, and hopefully beyond that we’ll hold the moot within a fortnight.”

“That’s fairly ambitious,” Teldryn scoffed. 

Nilandur just crossed his arms with a smug smile.  “I’m confident.” He softened a little. “I have faith.” 

“Keep these Stormcloaks in line, Nil,” Aerik said affectionately, opening his arms as Nilandur stepped forward to embrace him. Teldryn did not want to exchange hugs, and hoped his body language made it clear enough. 

Nilandur reached forward taking one of Teldryn’s hands into his own. “Take care of each other.” 

Teldryn smiled thinly, pulling his hand away after what felt like an appropriate amount of time. “We always do,” he assured, shouldering his pack as Aerik moved to do the same.

 

Nilandur gave them the letter to be delivered to Balgruuf, and with a somewhat less heartwarming farewell from Ulfric, the two were off. Teldryn couldn’t help but breathe an intense sigh of relief as they passed through the city gates and back out into the open countryside. He hadn’t realized just how trapped he had felt within the walls of Windhelm. Kahn threw her head and whinnied loudly as the two approached and Teldryn laughed, reaching out to cup her nose. 

“About time, am I right, old girl?” 

 

He and Aerik saddled up quickly and got on the road, their horses prancing with pent up energy, both from the cold and the prolonged stay. Aerik loosened the reins and gave Skywise his head, and the horse broke into an immediate gallop, hooves clopping loudly against the rough cobblestone. For once, Khan kept up, bucking slightly before settling into a loping gallop behind the dappled gray. She snorted playfully and Teldryn just held on and let his horse run, grinning like a fool. The wind bit at his face through the gaps of his helmet, and he reveled in the absolute freedom that came with being atop a horse. Skywise finally slowed to a trot and Kahn was breathing heavily by the end of it, but they’d covered a tremendous distance. Aerik forced his horse to walk, and Teldryn lead Khan up beside him, taking his helmet off for a moment and resting it on her withers. 

 

“Well, that was fun,” Aerik laughed breathlessly. “We’ll make it to the Nightgate Inn in no time, now. Unless you want to push on to Whiterun?” Teldryn looked up at the sky - it was impossible to tell the time with the constant cloud cover, but he was feeling adventurous. 

“As long as we can keep a good pace and break every now and then, I think Kahn is more than up to the task,” he agreed, patting the side of her neck affectionately. 

“I love how much you love that horse,” Aerik laughed. 

“She’s easy to love,” Teldryn insisted with a shameless grin that he reserved for Aerik’s eyes only.

 

They pushed on through the snowy landscape, alternating between periods of galloping and walking. Khan was certainly showing signs of exhaustion by the time they made it out of the Pale and into Whiterun hold. Nonetheless, she still picked up her feet and cantered easily through the planes. The sun was beginning to set behind the mountains to the west, and torchbugs soon flickered to life in Teldryn’s periphery, lighting their path. Dragonsreach shone like a lighthouse in the fading ocean of twilight, chimney smoke rising steadily from the houses of the wind district, swirling upwards in lazy patterns. 

 

It was completely dark by the time they reached the stables. The night was warm and pleasant, frogs peeping from the riverbed that ran through the city. Teldryn’s legs were sore and Kahn’s sides foamed with drying sweat from the effort of the ride. He took his time brushing her down, soothing her with tender words and praises. He held the old wooden bucket himself as she ate, slow and appreciative. He ran a hand across her neck fondly, straightening her mane, enjoying the soft warmth of her breath and the rich smell of the grain. He glanced across the stall to see Aerik fussing with Skywise’s forelock as he also held onto the feed bucket. He caught his husband’s eyes, receiving a warm smile in return.  

 

It felt good to be home.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody is allowed to be mean to Nilandur, it's illegal. _*turns on sirens*_ Aerik, you're under arrest.   
> _*shines light at Ulfric*_ I swear to god, you better be nice. 
> 
> We're going to be getting back on track with the **Deep Lore** in the next few chapters and, whoo buddy are things going to get _weird_. So buckle up, my darlings. And get ready to be Horny on Main for Vivec. (Maybe that's just me...) 
> 
> ヾ(▼ﾍ▼；)


	12. Art Break!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I figured I'd take a break between chapters and share some art of my boooyyyys!!   
> If you don't [follow me on Tumblr](https://thanatopsiturvy.tumblr.com/), I post all (well, almost all) of my art over there! I may post some of the more... eh... NSFW art in the near future.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter update will be this coming Thursday!   
> Much love to you all~
> 
> Topsy ♪(´ε｀ )


	13. The Scripture of the Wheel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Welcome back! Let's jump right in, shall we?

****

“I don’t remember exactly which sermon the line is in,” Teldryn confessed, leafing through his incredibly old copy of  _ The Thirty-Six Sermons of Vivec _ . He shifted his legs, crossing one ankle over the other, warming his bare feet in front of the hearth in the center of their living room. Aerik leaned over his shoulder, reading along, while Lydia sat to his left, dressed in a loose-fitting tunic with sleep-mussed hair. She yawned. 

“You can go back to sleep if you want, Lyds. We’re probably going to be at this for a while,” Aerik suggested. She shook her head through another yawn. 

“I appreciate it, but I want to be awake. I’ll cook some breakfast here in a moment.” She stretched lazily, sinking back into the chair and closing her eyes. Aerik huffed in amusement next to Teldryn’s ear, turning back to look at the book and massaging Teldryn’s shoulders absentmindedly.

“So who’s this Nerevar he keeps talking to?” 

“He was a great Chimer hero from the First Era - the first Hortator,” Teldryn explained, flipping to the next page. “Which is essentially just a very powerful leader that unites the Houses during times of crisis.” 

“So… Vivec is trying to, what, help him reach Godhood? Have sex with him?” 

“I honestly don’t know, my love.”

 

Aerik pointed at one of the verses, making a small noise of discontent. 

“Does that seriously say that Vivec  _ married _ Molag Bal?” 

“He’s a complex folk hero, indeed,” Teldryn mused. 

“Hell of a poet, though,” Aerik added. “And pretty kinky, if I’m reading this right.” 

“Believe me,  _ you are _ .” 

 

Teldryn flipped forward a bit more, eyes skimming quickly from line to line. 

“Here!” he declared proudly, pointing at the sermon - number sixteen. Aerik leaned in a bit closer, reading aloud:

 

_ “Nerevar said, 'Is this to keep you from the fire?' _

 

_ Vivec said, 'It is so that I may see with truth. It, and my place here at the altar of Padhome in the house of False Thinking, serve so that I may see beyond my own secrets. The Water Face cannot lie. It comes from the ocean, which is too busy to think, much less lie. Moving water resembles truth by its trembling.' _

 

_ Nerevar said, 'I am afraid to become slipshod in my thinking.' _

 

_ Vivec said, 'Reach heaven by violence then.'” _

 

Teldryn furrowed his brow. 

“That makes… less sense than I was hoping it would.” He sighed. “I knew it would probably be a dead end.” He closed the book, rising to his feet and stretching, hands brushing the low ceiling. Aerik nimbly plucked the book from his hand and took the seat he’d just vacated, opening it back up. 

“I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of in love with this Vivec character,” he laughed, chewing on a nail as he continued to read. 

“Let me know if you find anything interesting,” Teldryn scoffed, sauntering over to their dining room and pulling out ingredients to make breakfast. Lydia was dozing quietly by the fire and looked too peaceful to be roused. 

 

He pulled out an assortment of vegetables and some salted venison, beginning to dice an onion as Aerik laughed at something he’d just read. Teldryn glanced over at the fire pit briefly, noticing it had waned. He began to push his awareness through the ether, extending his magicka. He snapped his fingers once to direct the current, and the hearth lit up a little brighter. Lydia sniffed awake and Aerik looked up from the book. 

“Has your magicka gotten stronger?” he asked over his shoulder. Teldryn shrugged through his chopping, pushing the small pile of diced onions to the side.    
“I don’t think so. I’ve just been… experimenting with its boundaries. I have Nilandur to thank for that.” He moved on to a tomato, cutting it into chunks. “I suppose he’s made me think about magicka a bit differently.” Aerik was staring at the fire, snapping his fingers. 

“Yeah, well you’ve figured something out, because I have no idea how you just did that.” 

“Let me help, please,” Lydia insisted as she rose from her seat and walked towards Teldryn. He handed her the knife he’d been using, patting her amicably on the shoulder as he moved back towards Aerik. 

“You have to sort of  _ feel _ the current of magic, if that makes sense.” He held a hand out towards the hearth, feeling the pull and push of the fire just beneath the surface of his physical awareness. The embers dimmed significantly, almost going out, before roaring back to life again, then settling somewhere in the middle. Aerik let out a long whistle. 

“I’ve never seen anyone do anything like that, Tel,” he admitted, openly surprised. 

“Maybe it’s just my ancestral connection to fire,” Teldryn suggested, crossing his arms and staring into the flames. “I haven’t tried it with anything else.”

“Yeah, well, you should keep practicing.” Aerik crossed an ankle over his knee, sinking back into the chair and opening the sermons again. Teldryn hummed thoughtfully, tearing his eyes away from the fire pit. 

“I’m going to work on some potions for our journey up to High Hrothgar.” He ran a hand through Aerik’s hair as he stepped away. 

 

“Breakfast should be ready soon,” Lydia offered through another yawn as Teldryn passed her on his way to their alchemy station.  

“Watch your fingers,” he offered in warning as she began to cut the venison into pieces, and she waved him off with a smirk. He inhaled deeply, reveling in the familiar smells of his home and the warmth it stirred inside of him. He opened their alchemy cabinet and began to pull out ingredients, namely snowberries and thistle - no use in using the expensive ingredients for a few simple frost resistant potions. He was halfway through crushing the snowberries when he heard Aerik shout wordlessly from the next room. 

 

“He mentions a Tower!” he yelled, and Teldryn set down the mortar and pestle and trotted back towards the kitchen. Aerik had gotten to his feet and met Teldryn halfway, finger holding the spot on the page. 

 

_ “'Fifth: _

_ Look at the majesty sideways and all you see is the Tower, which our ancestors made idols from. Look at its center and all you see is the begotten hole, second serpent, womb-ready for the Right Reaching, exact and without enchantment.' _

_ Sixth: _

_ 'The heart of the second serpent holds the secret triangular gate.' _

_ Seventh: _

_ 'Look at the secret triangular gate sideways and you see the secret Tower.' _

_ Eighth: _

_ 'The secret Tower within the Tower is the shape of the only name of God, I.'”  _

 

Aerik met Teldryn’s eyes, clearly trying to piece the riddle together. Teldryn pursed his lips, running a hand across his jaw as he rolled the verse around in his head. 

“I believe I’m going to have to read it a few more times,” he confessed. Aerik was shaking his head, eyebrows knit together.  

“All these things that he says, I don’t know why, but they all  _ vaguely _ make sense to me. It’s hard to explain. But the mess about the ‘second serpent’ and the ‘triangular gate’... It’s like I  _ know _ what he’s talking about, but I don’t know. You know?” 

“I do not know, no,” Teldryn laughed.

Aerik had a distant look in his eyes. “It’s all watery - like I’ve seen it in a dream. Or from just beneath the surface of a lake.” 

“Now  _ you’re _ getting poetic.” 

“Sometimes everyday language just doesn’t get the point across,” Aerik smirked, snapping the book closed. Lydia had transferred some of the ingredients to the cooking pot, filling the house with the smell of cooking onions. Aerik inhaled deeply, smiling. 

 

“Well, I’m gonna go get dressed. We can head up to Dragon’s Reach after breakfast and get all the talking to Balgruuf out of the way. If we leave for Ivarstead by noon we’ll get there well before dusk.” Aerik stretched his arms up over his head and Teldryn kissed him just because he could before returning to the alchemy station. He was content to let Aerik do as much of the talking and negotiating today as he could get away with.    

 

///

 

Jarl Balgruuf the Greater had a sour look on his face the moment he opened the letter. He read it silently as Aerik and Teldryn looked on. 

“So,” he said at last. “Ulfric has finally agreed to the moot. I can’t say I ever believed I would see the day.” 

“There’s more at stake here than just determining the next High King or Queen,” Aerik explained. “Ulfric is at least smart enough to recognize this.” Balgruuf’s brow furrowed in confusion. 

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.” 

Aerik blinked, scratching his head. “What did the letter say?” Wordlessly, the Jarl extended the paper to Aerik. Teldryn crowded in closer to read along. 

 

_ Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, _

 

_ In the best interest of Skyrim and her people, Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm extends the offer to join the Jarls of each hold to meet in the traditional moot. Due to Whiterun’s central location, as well as your well-known neutrality in the current civil war, it would be beneficial for all if the moot were held within Whiterun’s walls. We appreciate your time and your consideration - please respond with due haste.  _

 

_ The Court of Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak  _

 

“Oh gods, Nilandur definitely wrote this,” Aerik rubbed his eyes with low chuckle. 

“He’s taking his new job very seriously,” Teldryn agreed, mildly impressed. 

Aerik sighed as he re-folded the letter. “I don’t understand why he’d leave out the information concerning the Thalmor, though.”

“Thalmor?” Jarl Balgruuf straightened in his throne. “What about them?” Teldryn gave Aerik a  _ look  _ before addressing the Jarl himself. 

“It’s nothing substantial. Just a theory. As the Dragonborn, Aerik has his concerns as to the Thalmor’s particular interest in Skyrim and her current internal conflicts.” So much for letting Aerik do all the talking today. “It’s surely something we would want to address at the moot,” Teldryn explained, “but would be superfluous to include such fine details in a letter.” He gave Aerik a pointed look, hoping his husband would put the Thalmor issue to rest for the moment. Aerik just stared at him flatly, crossing his arms and pursing his lips. 

 

“Would you consider it?” Aerik looked back to Balgruuf. “Hosting the moot?” 

Balgruuf stroked his greying beard thoughtfully, glancing to Irileth.

“I would be a fool not to. Especially if this could help end the war. However, I don’t see Ulfric going down without a fight. I know his reasons for stalling for as long as he has. He knows there’s a strong chance that the Jarls will agree to elect Elisif to the throne.” He looked to Aerik and Teldryn, eyes narrowing. “Why are you delivering this to me personally?”

“It’s a long story,” Aerik mumbled with a half-smile. 

Balgruuf nodded slowly. “Do you support Ulfric in his claim to be the rightful High King?” It was a precarious question, but Teldryn was thankful that he could be honest. 

“I don’t think we know yet,” he spoke before Aerik could. “But given our current... concerns, I think Ulfric would be a stronger ally. Especially given his experience during the Great War.” Irileth’s dark, clever eyes gave Teldryn an appraising look as she rested a hand on her hip.

“Never thought I’d see a Dunmer speak highly of Ulfric Stormcloak,” she all but scoffed. Teldryn scowled at her.    
“I’m not speaking  _ highly _ of him, I’m speaking logically. Strategically, even,” he clarified, though Irileth still curled her lip at him. 

“You’re both speaking in riddles,” Balgruuf interrupted. “I feel as though you’re keeping things from me intentionally, and not simply trying to wait for the moot.” 

 

_ Clever old bastard _ , Teldryn through to himself. He looked to Aerik, content to follow his husband’s lead at this point. 

“We’re about to pay a visit to the Greybeards, to seek more information concerning our… concerns.” He made a face at his own ineloquence. “Once we have more of our own questions answered, we’ll be able to elaborate.” Jarl Balgruuf didn’t look convinced. Neither did Irileth, for that matter. 

Aerik sighed. “Jarl Balgruuf, I’m just asking you to trust me. We have to be careful right now. These are volatile times.”

“You don’t have to lecture to me, Dragonborn,” Balgruuf assured. “I’m well aware of the condition of our times.” He stroked his beard again, silence elapsing between the party. Teldryn could feel Irileth’s eyes on him, but he resolutely ignored her. 

 

“Fine,” Balgruuf said at last. “I will agree to host the moot. But I am not the most difficult one you need to convince. Many of the Jarls see Ulfric as a murderer and a traitor. Not to mention that Tulius will surely demand an arrest.” 

“We aren’t here to speak on behalf of Ulfric and his character, or to try to justify his crimes.” Teldryn said, straightening up. “That is for him to do.” Balgruuf nodded in understanding. 

“Well, I wish you both safe travels. May you find the information you seek.” It was a dismissal, and Aerik and Teldryn accepted it gracefully, bowing once before taking their leave. 

  
  


“That could have gone better,” Aerik grumbled after they’re pushed through the main doors of Dragon’s Reach, boots clacking loudly against the wooden walkway as they made their way back down to the Wind District. 

“He agreed to host the moot, so that’s at least a small victory,” Teldryn offered. “Though Balgruuf is right. I don’t know how Ulfric is going to hold up against the half of Skyrim that sees him as a murderer, or the fact that the Empire wants him executed for being a war criminal.” 

Aerik made a frustrated noise, ruffling his own hair. “I don’t know, and I honestly can’t be bothered to care right now. This is too much shit for me to keep track of.” They trotted down the stone steps and walked briskly past the Gildergreen. Teldryn paused to pull a few septims from his coin purse to hand to a pitiful looking girl sitting on one of the benches. 

“Thank you, sir!” she peeped, clutching the coins to her chest. He grunted, walking away swiftly. Aerik was smirking at him. 

 

“Don’t tell me you want kids,” he teased, but the comment felt like a stab in the heart.

“I do not,” he assured, looking resolutely forward. The smile quickly slid from Aerik’s face and he turned his gaze forward as well. Aerik did want children, Teldryn knew this, even though he’d never said it out loud. But there was no good way to broach the subject. It wasn’t that he didn’t want kids… it was more complicated than that. 

 

They didn’t talk much about Teldryn’s early life, mostly because Teldryn didn’t want to. He didn’t miss his wife, not really. It had been so long since she had passed. She was nothing like Aerik - she had always been a bit removed, a bit calloused, with a sharp wit and an even sharper tongue, which he had been incredibly attracted to in his youth. Sometimes he vaguely wondered if they would have even lasted. Now that he was with Aerik he was able to see just how much their personalities had clashed, how at odds they would have been. They were both so young when they wed, pressured by their respective families. 

 

But his daughter… The loss of a child was a wound that never healed, no matter how many years had passed.

 

Teldryn cleared his throat, looking up at the sky to clear his head. It was a pleasant enough day. Dark clouds lingered in the distance to the west, threatening rain.

“We should leave for Ivarstead quickly,” he spoke up after a moment. “It looks like it might rain later this afternoon.” Aerik nodded in his periphery, quiet, so he continued talking just to fill the silence. “I assume we’ll be traveling on foot. No need to saddle the horses up for such a short trip. Though it will take us the better half of the day.” 

“We can stay in the inn for the night, then,” Aerik agreed, his tone even and calm. “We can start climbing the steps first thing tomorrow morning.”

 

They gathered their supplies quickly and silently, bidding farewell to Lydia and agreeing to be safe. As Aerik reached for the door Teldryn grabbed his arm, pulling him in for a firm kiss. It was an unspoken apology for something he didn’t have the words to express. He felt Aerik smile against his mouth, humming pleasantly. 

“Right back at you,” he murmured as he pulled the door open. Teldryn smiled, following him out into the mid-morning light. 

 

///

 

The Vilemyr Inn was nearly empty, save for a few travelers on their way to Riften and one priestess of Kynareth that planned to climb the seven thousand steps. Teldryn knew this because she wouldn’t shut up about it. 

“I’ve heard of people becoming one with their patron during the climb,” she insisted to a half-listening Aerik. He nodded distractedly as he flipped through Vivec’s sermons some more. They sat at one of the long tables near the center hearth. They had arrived in town just before sunset, the pale light of dusk seeping through the slender windows near the roof of the inn. The fire crackled warmly at their backs as the young priestess sat across from them against the wall.

“Have you climbed the steps?” she asked, seemingly undeterred by Aerik’s lack of interest. 

“Huh?” He finally looked up. “Oh, uh, yeah, we both have.”

Her eyes lit up. “And how was it? Magical? Enlightening?” 

“Dangerous,” Teldryn stated. “And cold. You’d do well to make sure you’re properly prepared.” The priestess seemed to deflate slightly. 

“That is probably sound advice,” she admitted, folding her hands delicately into her lap. 

 

“Find anything new and interesting?” Teldryn asked after a beat of silence, leaning towards Aerik. He received a thoughtful hum in response before Aerik closed the book. 

“Nope!” He grinned. “I just like the guy. Fun stuff.” Teldryn couldn’t help but laugh. He took the book from Aerik’s hands and opened to a random page. It was Sermon Twenty-One. The one that had mentioned the Tower. 

 

_ The Scripture of the Wheel, First: _

_ 'The Spokes are the eight components of chaos, as yet solidified by the law of time: static change, if you will, something the lizard gods refer to as the Striking. That is the reptile wheel, coiled potential, ever-preamble to the never-action.' _

 

“It’s all gobbledygook,” Teldryn grunted.

“What are you reading?” the priestess asked, leaning across the table. Teldryn gave her an unpleasant stare which she ignored in favor of curiously prying into their business. 

“The Thirty-Six Lessons of Vivec,” he said against his better judgement. She looked at him with a quirked eyebrow, then down at the book, then to Aerik. 

“I… don’t think I know what that is,” she admitted. She was clearly a Nord - Teldryn could tell by her accent. And her enthusiasm. And fatal optimism. Aerik lit up at her ignorance, smiling widely. 

“He was a god-king-poet! From Morrowind! Half Chimer, half Dunmer. And a hermaphrodite! Fantastic guy. Kinky as all hell.” Aerik was beaming, growing more enthusiastic as the young priestess grew more and more awkward, shrinking back into her seat and flushing bright red. 

“Ah… wow. Sounds very… interesting.” She shifted awkwardly. 

“What’s your name, sera?” Teldryn finally thought to ask. The priestess blinked at him before clearing her throat. 

“Ulle of Dragonbridge,” she supplied. “I’ve been a priestess of Kynareth for only four months. I decided that climbing the seven-thousand steps would help strengthen my bond to Kynareth and help me to be a better healer.” 

“Or,” Aerik interjected. “It’ll get you killed.” He smiled sweetly as he took a sip of mead. Ulle looked dejected, curling in on herself and rubbing her arms self-consciously. 

 

Teldryn felt it coming.  _ It’s none of your concern _ , he insisted to himself.  _ Just leave it be _ . 

“We’re…”  _ You idiot _ , he scolded internally, but sighed and continued. “We’re climbing the steps tomorrow.” Ulle perked up and Aerik turned to look at him with a pleasant, if not slightly surprised expression. 

“We cannot escort you, but you’re welcome to at least travel with us for some of the journey.”

“Truly?” Ulle’s eyes were bright, beneath her hood. They shone a brilliant green. 

“Sure! Why not?” Aerik chimed in, slapping Teldryn on the back and leaning in to kiss his cheek. Teldryn rolled his eyes with a smile. Ulle hiccuped. 

“Are you two… wed?” she asked tentatively, a blush blooming across her cheeks. 

“Mhmm,” Aerik hummed in affirmation, leaning his elbow on the table and looking at Teldryn with dopey eyes. “I’m a lucky guy.” 

“Knock it off,” Teldryn grumbled through a half-smile. Ulle offered a tentative smile of her own.

“And what are your names?”

“Well, I’m Aerik. And this handsome mer beside me is Teldryn.” He ruffled Teldryn’s hair. 

“Ack!” Teldryn shooed his hand away. Ulle finally laughed - a light, bell-like sound. 

 

“Well, I appreciate you sharing your journey with me.” She bowed slightly from where she sat. “What time will you be leaving tomorrow?”

“As early as we can,” Teldryn sighed. “Sunup, most likely.” 

“Alright!” She nodded enthusiastically, pushing to stand. “I shall be ready! Thank you!”

“Rest well!” Aerik called after her as she made her way to her room. He turned back to Teldryn, a grin spreading across his face.

“You are such a big softie, you know that?” he teased, slinging an arm around his shoulder. Teldryn grumbled into his ale cup, slumping his shoulders. 

“The poor girl would have gotten herself eaten by wolves.”

“This is just one of the many, many reasons I love you.” Aerik nuzzled the side of his face. 

“Stop putting on such a show, people are staring,” Teldryn chuckled, but didn’t push Aerik away. His husband just smiled against his cheek. 

“Let them watch.” 

 

///

 

Teldryn had a slightly difficult time falling asleep. He had stayed up reading as much of Vivec’s sermons as he could stomach, but once his eyes had begun to droop he had put them down immediately. Aerik slept almost silently beside him, which possibly meant he was also having trouble drifting off. Teldryn drummed his fingers against his chest, staring up at the ceiling. Where his eyes had felt heavy mere moments ago, now they seemed unable to close. It didn’t help that this blasted inn had no doors for any of their rooms. The hearthfire from the main room cast long shadows across the ceiling, flickering and undulating against the rough wooden planks. 

 

Movement across the door drew his attention in that direction. Someone had just walked by. But no… that wasn’t entirely correct. He could have sworn he just saw someone  _ float _ by. With one final glance at Aerik, Teldryn pushed back the covers, getting to his feet. The floor felt surprisingly warm beneath them. He decided against shoes, choosing to pad barefoot and shirtless out into the great room. Silence greeted him. All the patrons were gone, even the innkeeper was nowhere to be seen. Asleep, most likely. Whomever Teldryn had seen pass by their door had long disappeared, though they couldn’t have gone far. With curiosity getting the better of him, he walked silently to the front door of the inn, opening it and swiftly stepping outside.

 

His body seized up, freezing him to the spot. 

 

The air was hot and thick with ash, a warm breeze blowing bits of debris into his eyes and nose. Before him stretched the ash wastes - endless, lifeless. Towering before him, dominating the landscape, was the Red Mountain, billowing plumes of smoke. He squinted, looking around, trying to remember what he was doing - why he was here. 

 

Off in the distance ahead of him he saw a figure, walking away from him. Was that the person he’d seen? Had he seen anyone at all? Teldryn took a tentative step forward. The ash was hot beneath his feet. He stumbled forward into a jog, running in the direction of the figure who remained just out of reach, walking along at a calm pace. The Red Mountain seemed to loom impossibly bigger in front of him, curling forward, blocking the sky. He could see trails of lava rolling down his sides, like white hot veins. Like blood. He was bleeding. 

 

He? 

 

The figure wasn’t getting any closer, even as Teldryn broke into a sprint, pushing himself harder, faster, muscles protesting and lungs burning against the hot smoke and ash. He wanted to call out, but he was afraid to hear his own voice. The Mountain rumbled, a fresh expulsion of molten lava rocketing skywards followed by thick plumes of smoke.  _ So much smoke. _ He had to make sure Llunela and Ryne were alright. He pushed forward, ducking his head against the smog, shielding his eyes from the heat. Rivers of lava were closing in around him on either side, scorching his legs. The figure was just up ahead; he was closer. Teldryn opened his mouth to call to him only to stumble, pitching forward, too fast to stop himself. Lava rushed up to meet him and he watched with horror as his hands sunk into the molten liquid, his skin melting from his bones.

 

It didn’t hurt. 

 

Teldryn could only watch as the lava sluggishly engulfed what was left of his arms, his feet, his knees, his thighs. He looked up to see that the figure had turned to watch, still too far away to see clearly. Teldryn closed his eyes as the lava reached his chest. He felt his skin sloughing off his body numbly. The heat was intense, blistering, and he should have been terrified or screaming or at least  _ fighting _ , but instead he felt overcome with an odd sense of calm. It was familiar. He felt the lava consume his face, pushing into his mouth, filling him.

 

He opened his eyes. 

 

The heat and ash were gone, vanished. He was sitting upright, legs crossed, as if he were sitting in meditation. The room was black, wall-less, it dimensions stretching around him endlessly. Was it a room? There was a door, so it must be a room. 

 

It was a perfect triangle, standing alone in the center without any support to hold it up. Slowly, Teldryn got to his feet and approached it, one foot in front of the other, careful, precise. His feet felt wet, but the floor was dry. The floor was  _ hot _ . Steam rose from where he stepped, hissing like snakes. The door was just ahead. There was someone on the other side, also approaching him. He held out his hand and the figure did the same. Lightly, they made contact, fingertips brushing. 

 

It was himself. 

 

It was a mirror. 

 

“Who are you?” they asked in unison.  

 

“Look,” a voice behind him said. 

 

Teldryn felt every hair on the back of his neck slowly rise, the sensation trickling down his spine and into the soles of his feet. He slowly turned around. A face, two-toned, so very close to his own. A man hovering off the ground, sitting cross-legged in the air. The light jingling of jewelry, bangles hitting one another, like small bells, like a secret ritual. Eyes - so dark and so ancient that he felt a primitive terror rip through his body like a lightning strike. Half golden; half gray. The man smiled. White teeth. Feral. Loving. He reached out with slender fingers, cool to the touch against Teldryn’s burning skin, turning him back around to face the door. Those lovely hands slid across his shoulders, up his neck, across his face, through his hair. He felt his eyes flutter closed, a soft moan escaping his lips. It was terrifying; it was ecstasy. 

“ _ Look _ ,” Vivec said into his ear. Teldryn’s eyes snapped open. He looked. His head was guided, cradled between Vivec’s hands, turned sideways, the door tilting, teetering on the edge, about to fall, about to shatter. He only saw himself.

 

_ “Wake up.” _

  
  
  


Teldryn gasped awake, sitting bolt upright in bed. Aerik startled into consciousness next to him. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, panicked hands reaching out in the dark to grab Teldryn’s shoulders. Teldryn was shaking slightly as he looked around the room. Everything seemed to be normal. Then again, so had everything in his dream.  _ It felt so real… _ To his frustration, on top of being utterly disturbed, he also had an erection. 

“Perfect,” he mumbled, rubbing his hands vigorously across his ears. The hearthfire from the great room still cast dim light through their open doorway, though this time it was accompanied by the soft murmur of other voices. His eyes drifted to his copy of the sermons that still sat innocently on the bedside table. 

“Tel?” Aerik tried again, sitting up fully beside him, running a warm hand across his back. Teldryn’s mind wandered back to the very real feeling of Vivec’s cool, long fingers against his skin, his lips moving against the shell of his ear. He shuddered, ashamed and aroused. Aerik placed a kiss on his back, pulling gently on his shoulder to get him to lie down. 

“No more reading those damn sermons before bed,” Teldryn grumbled.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hnnggg.... I love Vivec._  
>  I had a lot of fun writing this dream sequence. I'm hoping there will be more like it in the future. 
> 
> Slight heads up: It's very possible that I'll have to cut back my posting schedule! I know I post every week, which is... kind of a crazy schedule to keep. But I like it, damn it!! I've just fallen slightly behind on my writing. (A mild lie, I've just been distracted writing other things involving my big, horny Khajiit... hehhh....).
> 
> Thanks so much, as always, to all of you who leave comments and show me love!! You really make my day and really help motivate me to continue to make this story the best it can be. 
> 
> All my love to you, you beautiful creatures. （´・｀ ）♡


	14. The Winds of Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, and welcome back!! Thanks so much for being patient with me while I take a bit more time between updates! The plot is getting thicc, in more ways than one, and I'm spending most of my time whining to my betas and frantically trying to figure out how to turn this massive idea into a cohesive story. 
> 
> But without further ado, read on my lovelies!
> 
> (Thanks so much to my wonderful betas [spiney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiney/pseuds/spiney) and [raunchyandpaunchy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy)!)

By the first hour into their hike up the seven-thousand steps, Teldryn was actually quite thankful for Ulle’s company. She was chatty, which kept Aerik distracted. They talked almost endlessly, leaving Teldryn to his own thoughts. His mind kept wandering back to his dream. Ivarstead had long disappeared beneath the clouds as they wound their way further up the mountain, cold air nipping at their faces as the wind picked up. 

Movement ahead of them snapped Teldryn out of his reverie. “Wolves!” he called out, spotting a pack of three at the switchback of the path. He jogged forward, pushing Ulle to the back and unsheathing his Nordic sword. 

Aerik smiled menacingly beside him. “Finally.” He unsheathed his swords. “I was starting to get bored.” The largest wolf let out a long, low howl before the three descended upon them, two to the left, one to the right. Teldryn pulled fire into his left hand and hurled it at the two approaching wolves on his side. They yelped as the fire singed their fur, but persisted, lunging forward with jaws open. Teldryn faded to the right, pivoting to bring his sword down on the beast’s neck. He watched with no small amount of surprise at the blade cleaved the wolf’s head clean off, the sword cutting through fur and flesh and bone like butter. The other wolf lunged from the front, only to be skewered in the side by one of Aerik’s ebony swords. 

Teldryn turned back to Ulle, who had tears in her eyes, hands covering her mouth in shock. Teldryn sighed, wiping the blood off his sword. 

“Life is violent, sera,” he said, sheathing his blade. 

“I could have calmed them,” she all but whispered. “They didn’t have to die.” Teldryn looked to Aerik, who shrugged, spinning his swords around his hands with a flourish before returning them to the sheathes on his back. 

“Sometimes it’s kill or be killed,” Aerik offered. “But if you want to try to calm the wolves going forward, we can give it a try.” 

“But no complaining when the spell wears off and we have to kill them,” Teldryn scolded. Ulle looked sheepish, but nodded, wiping her nose against the back of her mittens. 

Thankfully the majority of their hike was non-violent. They did come across two more wolves and allowed Ulle to calm them. The beasts watched passively as they walked past, tongues lolling out of their mouths, before scampering off into the frozen woods. Ulle smiled, satisfied. 

“How do we always find the pacifists?” Aerik asked Teldryn out of the corner of his mouth. Teldryn snorted, but didn’t offer an answer. 

They finally reached the craggy pass frequented by ice trolls. Teldryn pulled fire into his hands preemptively. 

“Be on your guard,” he told Ulle. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to calm a troll.” She nodded nervously, casting an armor spell on herself with a look of determination. Aerik had dropped to a crouch, moving near silently across the snow, taking the lead. The wind whipped fiercely at their faces, howling like a wounded animal, heavy snowfall blinding their vision. Teldryn saw Aerik move to skirt the wall of the cliff. He fell into step quickly behind his husband, motioning for Ulle to do the same. 

They were halfway through the pass when Teldryn looked up. The troll in question was standing on the ledge above them, its back turned. He felt his blood turn icy with primal fear, but kept his mouth shut, biting the insides of his cheeks. They were being quiet, careful. If they kept it up they might manage to make it past unnoticed. His thighs were beginning to burn from crouching, his heart beating loudly in his ears. Finally, they reached the other side of the pass. Aerik broke into a swift sprint, prompting Teldryn to do the same. He heard Ulle’s soft footfall just behind him, thankful that the girl had a shred of common sense. They rounded the bend, coming across the final wayshrine. 

“It was right above us,” Aerik panted. 

“I saw,” Teldryn nodded. “I really appreciated avoiding a fight with that thing.”

“It was above us?!” Ulle squeaked. Aerik pulled down his mask to smile at her. 

“Yeah, but we snuck right past. No killing or anything. Did you want to meditate on this shrine?” He gestured to the tablet behind him. Ulle looked slightly nervous, but nodded, stepping forward and kneeling into the snow with a soft crunch. She bowed her head in contemplation after reading the verse, breathing deeply. Aerik walked to Teldryn’s side. The wind had died down significantly since moving out of the narrow pass, and Teldryn took the opportunity to take his helmet off. Aerik stole a kiss, his lips cold and his nose a little wet. 

“Wipe your nose,” Teldryn scolded with a smile. Aerik stuck out his tongue, making a show of wiping his nose against his leather bracer. 

“Let’s stop in and speak with the Greybeards before heading up the mountain. I wanna see if maybe they’ll let Ulle get out of the cold for a bit while we’re up there. She can hike back down with us.”

“Who’s the big softie, now?” Teldryn teased, but  he agreed with the plan. In the corner of his vision he saw Ulle pushing up to stand, approaching them with a smile.

“Thank you so much for helping me get here safely.” She bowed deeply to them. “I hope I haven’t been too much of a burden.” 

“Not at all! You’ve been great company,” Aerik said. “We’re gonna be heading even further up the mountain. If you want, I can ask the Greybeards if they’d give you shelter for a bit until we’re done. Then you can walk back down with us. It takes far less time to get back down.” 

Ulle’s eyes widened. “The Greybeards? I didn’t think they allowed outsiders into High Hrothgar.” 

“It’s fine.” Aerik waved her comment off. “I’m on good terms with the guys.” She laughed, her face contorting into a look of disbelief. 

“I have found myself among strange companions.” 

-

High Hrothgar was a warm welcome from the outside, despite its cold stone walls. Aerik exhaled loudly with relief and Teldryn shook a bit of snow out of his hair. Ulle lowered her hood, looking around with wide, admiring eyes. 

“I never thought I’d see the day…” Teldryn heard her murmur to herself, and he noticed for the first time that she had wavy auburn hair. 

They were greeted by Arngeir in the main hall, exchanging polite bows. Aerik introduced Ulle, and the three of them were wordlessly led to the kitchens to warm up and have a small meal. 

“I brought some supplies up with us, by the way,” Aerik said, slinging his pack from his shoulder. “Got some potatoes, carrots, onions, a few salted meats… have at it.” He tossed the smaller sack to Arngeir, who fumbled, but caught it with a grateful expression. 

“Thank you, Dragonborn. Your kindness is one of your greatest gifts.” 

Ulle almost choked on the bread she’d been eating. “Dragonborn!? You’re the Dragonborn?” She gawked; Aerik shrugged. 

“He’s got a cooler nickname, honestly,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Teldryn, who knocked him on the back of his head in response. 

They settled around the small hearthfire eating their meager rations, Ulle still staring at Aerik in a mixture of awe and disbelief. 

“So, you wish to speak with Paarthurnax,” Arngeir stated solemnly. “I must confess my relief that you chose not to follow the path of the Blades.” 

“There was no way I could agree to what they asked of me,” Aerik said lowly. Arngeir only nodded. 

“Would Ulle be able to remain here while we speak with him?” Teldryn asked.

“I could come with you!” Ulle piped, smiling excitedly. 

“No,” Aerik, Teldryn, and Arngeir said simultaneously, all with varying degrees of harshness. Ulle shrunk in on herself, looking embarrassed. 

“He’s a hermit for a reason,” Aerik offered in consolation. 

Arngeir smiled thoughtfully at Aerik before turning his attention to Ulle. “You’re more than welcome to remain here for the time being. You’re a priestess of Kynareth, yes? High Hrothgar is open to all forms of worship - your meditation will be welcome among us.” 

Ulle bowed deeply from where she sat. “Thank you very much.”

After their short rest, Teldryn and Aerik were suiting back up once again, downing more potions of resist cold and preparing to make the second leg of their journey. 

“Arngeir,” Aerik said after a slightly tense moment of silence as they hovered near the doors to the courtyard. “I have a question before we leave. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want, and I don’t need a long explanation, but…” He trailed off, suddenly looking as though he regretted saying anything at all. 

“What is it, Dragonborn?” Arngeir prompted, folding his hands in front of his waist patiently. 

“What…” He sighed. “What was Ulfric like? When he was here?” Of all the questions Aerik could have asked, that was the one that Teldryn expected the least. By the look on his face, Arngeir hadn’t expected it either. 

“Ulfric,” he said gently, almost sadly. “He was a brilliant child, if not a little too hard on himself. Stubborn as a mule.” The old man laughed - a melancholic, dry sound. “He had a great deal of patience for his age. It is a shame he gave up his studies, strayed from this path.” 

“You mean it’s a shame he murdered someone with his Thu’um?” Aerik corrected bitterly. Arngeir’s brow crinkled as he shook his head. 

“I very much doubt he took a life using the Voice alone. Only the Dragonborn has that ability. Our Thu’um as Greybeards is strong, but it cannot kill. We do not possess the natural, raw power.” 

“So… how did he kill the High King then?” Aerik asked. 

Arngeir shook his head. “I don’t know, dear boy. But when Ulfric left our order, he only knew three shouts. I assume that hasn’t changed. In his… confrontation with the High King, I can only assume he either staggered him, disarmed him, or charged him. My heart aches when I think of it…” Arngeir trailed off, eyes glistening wetly in the low torchlight of the hall. 

“Alright,” Aerik said, swallowing audibly. “Thank you. Sorry to bring up painful memories.”

“Sky above, voice within,” Arngeir offered with a bow. And they left without further exchange. 

-

“What in the blazes made you ask him that?” Teldryn asked as they made their way across the courtyard. 

Aerik shrugged, stretching his arms as much as his armor would allow.  “I was honestly just curious. I should have known I wouldn’t get the answer I was expecting.”

“And what answer were you expecting?” Teldryn pressed, securing his helmet as they approached the gateway that marked the entrance of the treacherous climb to the summit. Aerik shrugged again, choosing to let the gesture suffice as an answer. Teldryn sighed, exasperated. He hung back, allowing Aerik to step forward and clear the severe winds that swept along the side of the mountain with a Shout before joining at his side once more.  

Two ice wraiths and a startled mountain goat later, they were winding their way up the final bend of the slope. Teldryn felt a primitive fear curling around the base of his spine as his eyes found Paarthurnax, perched atop the ancient dragon wall as though he hadn’t moved since the last time they’d seen him. The sight of the dragon never failed to make him want to turn tail and run. 

“Hey old man,” Aerik called out in greeting with a friendly wave. Paarthurnax exhaled loudly, steam curling out of his nostrils and from between his jagged, worn teeth. 

“ _ Dovahkiin _ ,” he acknowledged, raising his head. “It is good to see you again. What brings you to visit me on this day?”

“I was actually hoping to ask you some questions,” Aerik began, setting down his pack and swinging his arms to loosen them up. Teldryn knew there was no reason to fear Paarthurnax - the old dragon was a pacifist if he ever knew one - but he still marveled at Aerik’s ability to be so casual in the face of the enormous beast. 

“ _ Zu’u mindoraan. _ I hope I can provide the answers you seek,” Paarthurnax rumbled.

“What can you tell us about the Towers of Mundus?” Aerik began, diving right in. He had pulled his small journal and sharpened charcoal from his pack. Paarthurnax cocked his head to the side, looking at Aerik intently with his right eye.

“What an odd  _ laan _ , an odd question, especially to ask as we stand atop one.” Teldryn saw Aerik’s eyes light up, swelling with excitement.

“So this  _ is _ a Tower?” he clarified. Paarthurnax dipped his head once, perhaps in the motion of a nod. Teldryn felt a small glimmer of hope light within his chest. They were actually getting somewhere.

“This  _ strunmah _ is the first of all the Towers,” he explained in a slow, even tone. “Before my father Akatosh created Ada-Mantia, and before Lorkhan’s form was dismantled and scattered into the sea, the Throat of the World was breathed into existence by the Missing God himself. It is the conception point - the first egg of mortality.”

“Hold on, you’re going a bit fast,” Aeirk interrupted, shaking his head as he frantically scribbled into his journal. “What about an egg?” Teldryn laughed lowly, letting his pack fall to the ground and sitting down cross-legged in the snow, content to listen.

Paarthurnax exhaled again, and Teldryn could vaguely feel the warmth of his breath spiraling through the air. It smelled of brimstone. 

“Perhaps egg is not the word you would understand. Hmm… Humans are not hatched. Perhaps cave? Womb? The center of creation.”

“Cave? Did you say cave?” Aerik perked up, striding even closer to the massive dragon. Teldryn felt a shiver run down his spine. 

“ _ Geh _ , yes, cave. Does this make sense to you,  _ Dovahkiin _ ?”

“Not really,” Aerik laughed, almost hysterically. “But you’re not the first one to mention a cave. Keep going, though, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He continued to scribble frantically in his journal. 

“In order to tell you more, I must know what answer it is that you seek. Why do you come asking me about the Towers, now, after the threat of Alduin has ended?” Paarthurnax lowered his head down to Aerik’s level, one snaggled tooth as big as Teldryn’s forearm.

“Do you know about the Thalmor? They’re a political faction from the Summerset Isles,” Aerik began, lowering his journal for a moment. 

“ _ Krosis _ , I do not. I stand apart from this modern world, especially regarding the politics of man, mer, and beast.”

“Yeah, well,” Aerik scoffed, kicking a bit of snow. “They’ve been slowly working to deactivate all the Towers. This one is next on their list. They’re hoping to gain divinity from it.”

Paarthurnax made a deep, rumbling noise that vibrated through Teldryn’s head. 

“ _ Paar _ ,” he rumbled. “Such blind and foolish ambition in the face of the unknown. I can only hope their hubris will not lead them to the same fate as the Dwemer.” 

“You mean that destroying this Tower would possibly just… wipe the Altmer from the face of Nirn!?” Aerik whirled to look at Teldryn with shock and worry. The Dunmer furrowed his brow, Nilandur’s gentle face swimming to the forefront of his mind.

“Calm yourself,  _ Dovahkiin _ . Do not speak in definitives. Do not jump to unnecessary conclusions.” The old dragon straightened up, exhaling steam into the bright, midday sky.

“As I said, this was the  _ first _ Tower, though many believe Ada-Mantia to be the first. The Lost God Lorkhan breathed the essence of life onto the face of Nirn from this very spot. The Throat of the World is called such for a reason - it was the  _ kiin _ , the beginning of thought. The beginning of  _ Thu’um _ . Of Voice.” Paarthurnax stretched his wings out wide, in a stretch, before folding them tightly to his body. “Life exists because it was  _ spoken _ into existence. Just as my kind can manifest with our words, so can men, mer, and beast, though in different ways.” 

“What do you mean? How can we make things with our words?” Aerik pressed. “I mean, of course I can say  _ YOL… _ ” A short burst of flame erupted from his mouth, briefly casting deep shadows across Paarthurnax’s face and melting some of the snow on the ground in front of him. “And I can make fire. But if I say FIRE…” Aerik yelled the word, which sounded utterly ridiculous compared to the dragon Shout. “Then nothing happens.”

“ _ Vahzen _ , you are correct,” Paarthurnax agreed. “That is why I said ‘in different ways’. Lorkhan was a clever God. Even my father Akatosh loved this about them, despite the harsh punishment he saw fit to bestow. Lorkhan knew the true power of the Voice - the power of raw, unbridled, creative energy. To speak is to create. This is more obvious among the  _ Dovah _ , but no less true among the other races gifted with the power of speech.” 

Teldryn suddenly felt numb, and not just from the cold. He found himself falling back into his dream from the night before. His  _ nightmare _ , more like it. Had that truly been Vivec visiting him? And if so, what exactly was he trying to say? Why were all these lost Gods rearing their heads all of a sudden. He looked at Aerik, whose eyes were still trained on Paarthurnax.

“But what does this have to do with the Tower?” Aerik asked, his frustration growing. “How can we stop the Thalmor from destroying it? And it’s been said that this Tower’s ‘stone’ is called ‘the cave’. What does that even mean?” 

“The cave…” Paarthurnax rumbled. “It is not a stone in the way Lorkhan’s heart acted as a stone. It is more of… a concept. A mirror, perhaps.” Teldryn’s ears perked up at that, shivering involuntarily at the thought of Vivec’s hot breath against his ear.  _ A mirror _ ...

“So it’s not a physical place?” Aerik pressed. 

“It both exists, and does not exist,” Paarthurnax answered.

Aerik let out a frustrated cry, kicking some snow. “Don’t talk riddles at me, old man!” he yelled. “They’re trying to destroy the fucking world! I didn’t slay Alduin just to have a group of pompous elves try to… to… _unravel_ _time_ or whatever the hell they think all this is going to accomplish!”  

Paarthurnax lowered his head to Aerik’s level once again. The dragon seemed to have an infinite amount of patience. He blinked once at Aerik, his vertical eyelid sliding across his eye, pupils dilating and contracting.  

“You have access to the cave,  _ Dovahkiin _ ,” he said definitively, voice deep and resonant. “You but only need to use your voice.” 

-

Ulle ended up traveling with them all the way back to Whiterun. Aerik was in a sour mood on the way back down the mountain, though he seemed to perk up after a warm meal and a good night’s sleep at the Vilemyr Inn. He and Ulle now chatted amicably as they made their ascent towards Whiterun’s main gates. Teldryn was thankful for a night of uninterrupted sleep, but nervous tension still plagued the periphery of his thoughts, especially as dusk descended upon them once again. 

“Thank you again, so very much, for helping me climb the seven thousand steps.” Ulle smiled sweetly as she bowed. Aerik rumpled her hood affectionately. 

“Not a problem,” he grinned. “Are you gonna be taking up residence at the temple here?” 

Ulle smiled sheepishly. “Well, that is my hope… but it is up for the current clergy to decide.”

“Best of luck to you, then, sera,” Teldryn offered, realizing he hadn’t directly said anything to her in hours. She smiled and bowed to him as well. 

They said their goodbyes and Teldryn watched as Ulle began to trot away. Aerik laughed, watching her go. 

“How old do you think she is?” 

“You know I’m bad with telling how old humans are,” Teldryn grumbled as he opened the door to their house and allowed Aerik to step inside. “If I had to guess, I’d say no older than sixteen. Maybe seventeen.” 

Aerik let out a barking laugh. “Tel, she was at least in her early twenties.”

Teldryn prickled. “You asked! And I told you I was bad at it,” he argued, unstrapping his armor and hanging it on the rack near the door. Aerik was still laughing lowly as Lydia stepped down the stairs. 

“Welcome back, my Thane.”

“Hey Lyds,” Aerik acknowledged, hanging up his swords. 

“You received a letter,” she said, pointing to a sealed envelope on the dining room table. 

Aerik strode over quickly and broke the wax seal, reading silently. 

“It’s from Nilandur,” he began to explain, walking back towards the fire and plopping down into one of the chairs. “Says they’ve just sent all the letters out to the Jarls. He’s hoping to hear back within the next two weeks.  _ Two weeks? _ What the hell are we supposed to do until then?”

Teldryn shrugged, sitting down in the chair beside him and taking off his boots. “Odd jobs?” he suggested, mildly sarcastic. 

“Uhg,” Aerik lamented, letting the letter slide from his grip and flutter to the floor. “I hate all this waiting.” 

“What was it that Ulfric said? War is mostly comprised of waiting?” Teldryn smirked, pulling his foot up across his knee to massage into his arch. All the walking had left him feeling a bit sore. 

“I guess we can… maybe do some work for the Companions or something.” Aerik sighed, rubbing his temples. “I just feel like we’re wasting time. The Thalmor are probably working day and night to bring the damn mountain down. Not to mention I  _ still _ haven’t figured out what Paarthurnax meant by using my voice to access the cave.”

“Perhaps he meant your Thu’um?” Teldryn offered. 

“Well, yeah, probably. But I feel like he would have said  _ Thu’um _ . And where  _ is _ the cave? He didn’t even tell us that.” Aerik let out a loud, frustrated groan, beginning to unlace his boots. “Yeah, maybe doing some side work for the Companions would be good. Get our hands dirty.”

“Whatever you want, love.” 

Aerik wiggled his eyebrows, giving Teldryn a sideways glance. “You know what I want,” he said lowly. Lydia cleared her throat from across the room. 

“Oh don’t act like a prude, Lyds, I’ve heard your late night endeavors get a bit loud at times,” Aerik teased. 

Lydia flushed, scowling. “I apologize, my Thane.” She didn’t sound remotely sorry.  

“Don’t apologize!” Aerik grinned. “I’m just surprised nobody told you Ysolda was a screamer.”

“In any case,” Teldryn interrupted. “If you’re concerned with finding more information, perhaps that… court wizard here might be able to provide some assistance.” 

Aerik scoffed. “Farengar? Since when has he ever been useful? I’d sooner hike our happy asses to Solstheim and listen to Neloth drone on about Black Books than let that pompous mage think for one second he knows something I don’t.” 

“Easy, now. I’m just throwing ideas out there,” Teldryn reasoned, chuckling.

“More like throwing shit at the wall to see what sticks.” 

“Alright, no need to be like that.” Teldryn began to massage his other foot, grumbling. “Maybe we really should just do some odd jobs. Blow off some steam. You’re a little tightly wound.”

“I just wish Ulle would have let us kill a few more wolves,” Aerik exhaled loudly, letting his head fall back against the back of the chair, sinking low and fanning his toes out in front of the fire.

“We’ll check in with the Companions tomorrow,” Teldryn assured, placing his foot back down on the ground and pivoting his chair to face Aerik. “Here.” He patted his lap. 

Aerik sighed, but smiled fondly, pivoting his own chair to face him and resting a foot against Teldryn’s thigh. 

“Gods, I love you,” he groaned as Teldryn began to dig into the arch with his thumbs. 

“I do this for my own benefit,” Teldryn said, deadpan. “It make you less insufferable.” Aerik grinned at him and let his head fall back again, eyes sliding closed. Teldryn took the lapse of silence between them to allow his mind to wander, namely in the direction of the so-called cave. He was starting to think he should tell Aerik about the dream he’d had - just in case it  _ was _ something more. He sighed heavily, setting Aerik’s foot down and pulling the other into his lap. His hands worked automatically, even as his eyes drifted over to his pack, still sitting by the door. Maybe he’d read just a bit more of the sermons tonight. Purely as an experiment. If he had another dream, then he’d tell Aerik. If not, well, then he’d chalk it all up to an overactive imagination and the stress of the past week. 

He gave Aerik’s foot one final squeeze before setting it down. 

“Let’s try to get some sleep, love,” he suggested. 

Aerik yawned, thoroughly relaxed. “Sounds good to me.” 

They trudged up the stairs, bidding their goodnights to Lydia. Once settling down into bed, Aerik gave Teldryn a look as he pulled out the sermons again. 

“I thought you said you weren’t going to read that before bed anymore?” 

“I’m conducting an experiment.” 

“What, to see if you can give yourself nightmares again?” 

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” Teldryn insisted, to which Aerik smirked annoyingly. 

“It’s perfectly fine, you know,” Aerik teased, shuffling beneath the covers and throwing an arm across Teldryn’s stomach. “No shame in getting spooked by a little book.” Teldryn ignored him, biting his tongue against comments concerning Hermaeus Mora and flipping forward to some of the later passages. 

_ 'The pleasure of annihilation is the pleasure of disappearing into the unreal. All those that would challenge the sleeping world will seek membership in this movement. I denounce the alienation of the Cloven Duality with a hammer.'  _

Teldryn sighed loudly, already exasperated. He read for a little bit longer until he felt his eyes growing heavy and the words began to blur on the page. He looked to his side to see Aerik already fast asleep, his forehead pressed against Teldryn’s shoulder. He could always see the little boy Aerik used to be whenever he slept, the lines and wrinkles around his eyes and mouth smoothing out. He set the book down and shifted further beneath the covers, turning and throwing an arm around his husband. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the possible visions that might haunt him tonight. He kissed Aerik on the crown of his head before forcing his eyes closed. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partysnacks!!! 
> 
> The next chapter will be pretty long and will have a new POV introduced!! Can't wait. Y'all will either love it or hate it. But either way, buckle up, good people, because Nasty Skyrim Politics is about to rear its ugly head again. 
> 
> Infinite love~


	15. A Gentleman's Guide to Whiterun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! 
> 
> This is a long chapter. Kind of dense with conversation and dialogue, too. So buckle up! 
> 
> Thanks so much [spiney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiney/pseuds/spiney) for being an amazing, last-minute beta and giving our beloved paunchy a well deserved break!

Teldryn did not have a prophetic dream that night. Or the next… or the next after that. In fact, over a week went by during which Teldryn had _no_ dreams at all, or at least none that he could properly remember. It was beginning to make him vaguely irritable. He and Aerik took on a few jobs to help out the Companions, mostly clearing out bandits that had taken up residence in various locations around the hold. It was definitely a change of pace that the two of them needed, though Teldryn’s lack of dreaming was beginning to get to him. More specifically, it was beginning to _distract_ him. 

 

“Teldryn, _okad_ _!_ ” Aerik’s voice yelling his native tongue snapped him from his brief reverie. He ducked and rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the downswing of a greatsword. 

“I’ll have your head, elf!” the bandit roared, hoisting his massive sword over his head in preparation for another strike. Teldryn found his feet, centered himself, and used as much momentum as he could to spring forward, his Nordic sword skewering the man through his stomach and pushing him off his feet. The two of them fell to the floor in a graceless pile. Teldryn pushed away, pulling his sword from the man’s torso and stumbling backwards. Blood gushed from the Nord’s mouth, glassy eyes staring at the ceiling. He gurgled once before his chest stilled. 

“What is wrong with you?” Aerik asked angrily, stomping over from where he’d killed three of the other bandits. 

“Sorry,” Teldryn mumbled. 

“Don’t apologize, _wake up_ ,” Aerik insisted, which only served to jolt Teldryn further. 

 

_Wake up_. 

 

He jerked around to look over his shoulder, swearing he heard laughter coming from deep within the fort - the soft jingling of jewelry.

“Tel?” Aerik asked, anger giving way to concern.

Teldryn blinked, turning back around. “I’m… Did you hear that?” he asked, feeling utterly insane. No dreams, and yet somehow Vivec was still managing to haunt him. 

Aerik sheathed his swords. “You need to tell me what’s going on with you.” 

“Now is not the time,” Teldryn deflected, putting away his weapon as well. 

“Of course not _right now_ ,” Aerik snapped irritably. “Let’s just get back to Whiterun and get our damn money for clearing out the fort.” 

 

The walk back was peaceful. It was a beautiful, cloudless day, the tundra cotton swaying slightly in the warm breeze that blew across the rolling plains. Teldryn took a deep breath, preparing to fill the silence that had lapsed between them. 

“It started with a dream I had. It was the night before we hiked the seven thousand steps.” He ran his thumb nervously over the pommel of his sword. Somewhere off in the meadow a rock warbler was singing. “I saw Vivec.” 

Aerik made a thoughtful noise. “Jealous,” he chuckled, his temper cooled by this point. 

“I can’t say it was terribly pleasant. The first half of the dream was most certainly a nightmare, but it dissolved into something… entirely too strange to properly describe. I’m still unsure of what I saw or how to go about explaining it. But it felt like Vivec was trying to _show_ me something.” He grimaced, waving a hand in frustration. “It was probably just a stupid dream, but he felt so…” Teldryn trailed off. ‘Real’ wasn’t the right word - not even remotely. Aerik was silent, looking down at the path in front of them, giving Teldryn space to continue. 

 

“I decided to experiment - see if it was actually an attempt at communication or just a fluke. So that’s why I’ve been reading the sermons at night.” 

“And you’ve been having weird dreams?” Aerik pressed. 

“No, that’s the problem. That’s what’s so _distracting_. I haven’t had a single dream this entire week. But I feel…” He heard it again - soft jingling, bracelets sliding against each other around long, thin wrists. 

“I feel as though he’s taunting me.” Teldryn gritted his teeth together, lips tight as he spoke. “But the damn trickster is supposed to be _dead_ , or at least to have disappeared. So I don’t know why he’d suddenly choose to haunt an old Dunmer who barely gave him the time of day to begin with.” 

 

They passed the western watchtower, nodding to one of the patrolling guards. Aerik stretched his arms up over his head, making a loud noise and threading his fingers together to rest behind his neck. 

“Well, sounds kind of neat to me,” he offered with a smirk, decidedly unhelpful. Teldryn scoffed in response, but chose not to press the topic further.

Rising dust on the road ahead soon captured their attention, pushing thoughts of Vivec at least momentarily aside. Horses, moving towards them, brisk hooves on cobblestone.

Teldryn squinted against the midday sun. “That’s a fairly large party.” Three horses and their riders, as well as multiple people on foot, were currently passing Pelagia farm, angling towards the stables. 

“Well, they’d better not try to kick our horses out of their stalls,” Aerik grumbled. “Or I’ll have some choice words for Skulvar.” As the pair made their way closer, realization washed over Teldryn with a jumble of mixed feelings. 

“It’s Nil!” Aerik exclaimed, breaking into a trot and running to meet the party. 

 

Sure enough, it was the old Altmer. He waved at them beaming from atop Mara as they convened in front of the Whiterun stables. He looked truly regal, his white-gold hair gleaming in the bright sun. He was sporting a dark blue cloak with silver fastenings and a trim of soft fur around the shoulders - certainly straight out of a king’s court. The other two riders were, of course, the ever-severe Jarl of Windhelm and his right-hand man, a gaggle of Stormcloak soldiers trailing behind them. Ulfric’s horse was a massive creature, almost solid black, with hooves as big as pie plates. To top it all off, it wore battle armor, which seemed excessive. Though when Teldryn considered it, there _were_ still warrants for execution out on the man’s head. _War_ , he thought disparagingly.

 

“I didn’t expect to see you this soon!” Aerik called out somewhat breathlessly, slowing down to a walk. Nilandur smiled broadly, patting Mara on the neck and swinging out of his saddle. 

“We received enough positive replies that I thought it might be prudent to travel to Whiterun early to begin preparations.” Nilandur was positively glowing. He took Aerik’s face in his hands in one of the more fatherly gestures Teldryn had seen thus far, before pulling his son in for an embrace. Aerik returned the gesture with a laugh. 

“Dragonborn,” Ulfric acknowledged from atop his colossal horse after the two pulled apart. “Fire-Veins,” he added, turning his gaze momentarily to Teldryn. Teldryn closed his eyes to prevent them from rolling into the back of his head. He refocused and looked back up at Ulfric with a thin smile and a curt nod. 

“So, uh… where are you going to be staying in our fair city?” Aerik asked Ulfric tentatively. It was a good question. Teldryn and Aerik barely had room for Nilandur in their house. 

“The Gray-Manes have generously offered me their guest quarters,” Ulfric explained. “My soldiers will be staying outside the city in the nearby camp. They joined us primarily as added protection.”

“Hopefully you didn’t encounter too many unpleasantries,” Teldryn offered, and found that he actually meant it. 

 

Nilandur shifted nervously. “We were, ah…” He trailed off, looking to Ulfric momentarily. “We were _accosted_ by several Thalmor agents yesterday. There were casualties among our soldiers.” _Our soldiers_ , Teldryn thought, working to keep his expression neutral despite the sudden desire to put his entire fist in his mouth. 

“It would have been far worse had we been without your skills as a healer,” Ulfric offered, earning a small smile from Nilandur, a dusting of bronze coloring the high elf’s cheeks. Teldryn looked away and bit the inside of his cheek, taking a deep breath through his nose. He prayed to Azura that Aerik wasn’t seeing what he was seeing. 

“Well, that’s not good.” Aerik’s mouth was set into a thin line. “How did they know you’d be traveling?” 

“There are spies everywhere,” Galmar offered, only sounding _a bit_ paranoid. “Even in our own city.” 

“Regardless,” Ulfric waved a hand in dismissal. He stood in his stirrups and swung a leg around to dismount his horse. Teldryn had to commend the man for accomplishing the task with as much grace as he did, considering the sheer size of the beast. 

“The Thalmor have no doubt caught wind of the moot,” Ulfric continued, striding to stand beside Nilandur. “It would be wise to stay vigilant. Where were the two of you returning from?”

“Clearing up some bandit problems. But wait,” Aerik placed his hands on his hips. “Even if the Thalmor _did_ know about the moot, they’d piss a lot of people off coming into neutral territory and interrupting a Skyrim tradition like that.” 

Ulfric moved to lead his horse to the stables. “The Dominion cares not for our traditions, Dragonborn. You should already know this.” Nilandur watched Ulfric with a creased brow, already wringing his hands nervously. He grabbed Mara’s reigns and followed, Galmar dismounting to join them. Aerik and Teldryn shared a silent glance before heading for the portcullis, waiting patiently until Nilandur and his Stormcloaks were finished boarding their horses. 

 

The atmosphere was tense as soon as they stepped through the city gates. The Battle-Borns, or anyone who shared their view, showed their distaste for Ulfric outwardly and loudly, with boos and shouts of ‘murderer’ ringing out of open windows. Nilandur looked truly appalled, head swiveling around to try to find the source of the outbursts. Teldryn couldn’t help laughing at his reaction. 

“What did you expect, sera?” he asked, only feeling mildly guilty at the absolutely distraught look the Altmer gave him in return.  

“I suppose I didn’t realize it was… this bad,” he admitted under his breath. His gaze found the back of Ulfric’s head, eyebrows knitted together in worry. 

“You’ve been a bit sheltered from it, I guess,” Aerik mumbled, looking quietly vigilant,  prepared for a possible fight. 

 

They finally made it up to the Wind District and ushered Ulfric and Galmar safely into the Gray-Manes’ house. 

“That was incredibly unpleasant,” Nilandur muttered. “Are you sure it’s safe for you to be here?” He placed a hand gently against Ulfric’s shoulder and once again Teldryn averted his eyes, tightening his jaw. 

“Your concern is appreciated, but unnecessary.” Ulfric’s tone was somewhat cold, and for a moment Teldryn was relieved. Perhaps Nilandur was simply _that_ compassionate. One look at Ulfric’s face, however, made his stomach twist. The man was _smiling_ at the Altmer, and Nilandur was smiling right back, as though they were sharing some small, unspoken joke. Teldryn’s gaze snapped to Aerik, who was preoccupied with inspecting some of the Gray-Manes’ decorations, mercifully oblivious. 

 

“Jarl Balgruuf wants to meet tomorrow evening and discuss the details of the moot over food and drink,” Ulfric explained, recapturing Aerik’s attention. Nilandur had long removed his hand from the man’s shoulder.

“How sweet. Are you two gonna kiss and make up?” Aerik asked with a toothy grin. 

Ulfric raised a single eyebrow. “Hardly. I anticipate it to be exceedingly tedious.” He paused for a beat. “Of course, you and your husband are both expected to be there.” Aerik and Teldryn looked at each other. 

“Define _‘expected’_ ,” Aerik pressed, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. 

Nilandur exhaled loudly in frustration. “ _Aerik_.” 

“I’m kidding! Lighten up,” Aerik laughed. “We just finished up our last job for the Companions, so our schedule is officially cleared for… political bullshit.” He looked to Teldryn, who just grinned fondly at him. 

“Good,” Ulfric agreed with a nod. “Because your skills in fostering allies could certainly use some practice.” 

Aerik placed a hand across his chest in mock offense. “Jarl Ulfric, was that a sorry attempt at a joke? Because you wound me.” Ulfric simply raised an eyebrow again, and Nilandur let out a bubbling, relieved laugh that seemed to lighten the entire room.

Teldryn finally spoke up with an ill-concealed smirk. “I hold no accountability for the Dragonborn’s actions going forward. Just so we’re clear.” Aerik punched him in the shoulder. 

 

For a moment, Teldryn felt a curling tendril of hope forming in the back of his mind. If this unlikely alliance was losing its hostile edge, perhaps others could follow in its stead. Maybe the moot _would_ be a success. 

 

Teldryn allowed himself to have a brief moment of optimism. 

 

///

 

“My, my, don’t you look utterly dashing,” Aerik said, more than a little leering. He was leaning in the doorway to their bedroom, wearing a rather slim-cut forest green surcoat, his tall black boots freshly-oiled and gleaming. They’d deemed dinner with Balgruuf an appropriate enough occasion to don clothes more suited for… diplomacy. Teldryn was in the midst of tightening a thick belt around his waist and only glanced up. 

“I don’t think I’ve worn formal attire since our wedding,” Teldryn grumbled, smoothing down the front of his dusky tunic. The outfit was distinctly House Redoran, and he quietly hoped that Balgruuf’s housecarl was far enough removed from their home country to refrain from commenting. Or from holding old grudges.

“That’s a damn shame,” Aerik tutted, sauntering forward to slide his hands around Teldryn’s hips. “The problem with seeing you in formal wear is that I just want to get you right out of it again.” He tilted his head to place a slow, lingering kiss against Teldryn’s neck, lighting a fire in the mer’s stomach.

“After dinner, love,” he laughed, pushing Aerik away and causing the man to pout. 

“That’s no fun. What about my appetizer?” He slid his fingers between the folds of Teldryn’s long robe, knuckles brushing against his smalls and now-very-interested cock.

“You’re filthy,” Teldryn growled, roughly fisting Aerik’s hair. “And you’re going to make us late.” 

Aerik grinned at him lecherously. “Actually, I think I’d rather not spoil my appetite.”

“Oh,” Teldryn laughed lowly, releasing his grip. “You’re going to get it later.” 

“Promises, promises…” Aerik teased. 

Teldryn reached up to gently fix his husband’s hair where he had mussed it up, arranging it to lay neatly again. Aerik laughed, grabbing Teldryn by the wrists and planting a kiss on each, looking at him adoringly with large, amber eyes.

“It’s amazing how you can go from utterly concupiscent one moment to suspiciously virtuous the next,” Teldryn pointed out with a chuckle. 

Aerik hummed against his wrist. “You’re so verbose. You’re making me feel _concupiscent_ again.”

“Let me finish getting dressed, you damn libertine.”  

 

Aerik laughed airily, pecking Teldryn on the cheek before sitting down on the bed. Teldryn took a deep breath, a  smile still lingering on his face as he wrapped one of his nicer red scarves around his neck and shoulders, tucking the excess into his belt. He ran a hand across his hair in an attempt to flatten it a bit before turning to Aerik and holding his hands out.

“Respectable?”

“Do you actually care?” Aerik asked with a raised brow, leaning back on his forearms. 

“Surprisingly, yes. For whatever damnable reason.” He exhaled sharply in frustration, already feeling the need to adjust his scarf. 

“Absolutely respectable.” Aerik agreed with a nod. “Incredibly fuckable, as well,” he added with a wolfish grin. 

“I thought you weren’t trying to spoil your appetite?”

“I’m just stating facts, nothing more.”

Teldryn reached a hand down in offering and pulled Aerik to his feet, using the rest of the momentum to pull him flush against his body. His husband looked gorgeous, not that he’d give the man the satisfaction of saying it out loud. He let the compliment translate through the deep, knee-buckling kiss he initiated, thumb digging into the back of Aerik’s neck possessively. Aerik hummed against his mouth.       

“Are you going to behave yourself tonight?” Teldryn asked lowly against Aerik’s lips. 

His husband smiled wickedly in return. “Only if I know I’ll get a reward for doing so.” 

“I swear on the Nine Divines, Aerik…”

“Relax, Fire-Veins,” he laughed, giving Teldryn one last peck before stepping away. “This isn’t even the moot. It’s just dinner with Balgruuf.” Teldryn grumbled under his breath, but smiled as he followed Aerik out of their room and downstairs. 

 

Nilandur was waiting next to the front door in an incredibly fetching outfit that seemed to be custom tailored. Aerik let out a long, low whistle as they descended the stairs. 

“Where on Nirn did you get that outfit, Nil?” The Altmer looked down at himself, almost as if he were startled, running a hand across the light blue fabric. It was a high-collared surcoat that somehow succeeded in looking both incredibly Nordic and incredibly Elven at the same time. 

“It was a gift,” he stated, and there was no hiding the guilt in his voice. Teldryn sighed loudly and made a show of rolling his eyes. 

Aerik scrunched up his face. “What, is Ulfric is buying you clothes now?” 

“I barely had any!” Nilandur protested almost too quickly. “I only had those mage’s robes you’d lent me, and they were far too big!” 

“So Ulfric _did_ buy you these?” Aerik was grinning, but Teldryn could hear the venom bubbling just beneath the surface of his voice. Nilandur tucked his lips around his teeth, looking thoroughly vexed. 

“They’re quite nice,” Teldryn added, meaning it, but knowing he looked a bit unfriendly. 

Nilandur looked back down at his surcoat again, smiling ever so slightly. “I’m certainly appreciative of them.”

“Alright, let’s just go muddle through this dinner, shall we?” Aerik prompted, clearly irritated. Nilandur nodded curtly, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve before opening the front door, holding it for Aerik and Teldryn to pass through. 

 

The sun was low enough in the sky for the dark blue of twilight to begin creeping in from the east. The lamplighter was making his way through the Whiterun marketplace, illuminating the street with a warm, golden glow. Teldryn felt a little winded by the time they’d made it to the top of the stairs at Dragonsreach and blamed it on the tightness of his belt. As they pushed through the main doors the trio was greeted by rich smell of roasted meats and wood smoke. 

Aerik inhaled loudly, humming in appreciation. “Maybe this won’t be so bad.”

“Says your stomach,” Teldryn jeered.

 

Ulfric was standing at the top of the stairs, speaking quietly with Galmar. His outfit didn’t look too far removed from what he usually wore, other than the lack of steel plate armor. Apparently, his would-be-kingliness didn’t feel the need to dress to impress. His eyes drifted down to the three of them as they approached, scanning each of them with a removed sort of air. 

“You all look well,” he commented dispassionately. Teldryn nodded his head in recognition, Aerik gave a sarcastic, informal salute, and Nilandur bowed deeply. Teldryn had a hard time not laughing at the lot of them. _What a fucking mess_ , he thought to himself. 

 

They proceeded to seat themselves along one of the long tables to the right of the main hearth. Jarl Balgruuf and his court were already seated on the opposite side, staring at the party with undisguised hostility. 

“Off to a great start,” Teldryn murmured into Aerik’s ear, causing his husband to snicker and wander over to Balgruuf’s table before sitting down, shaking the Jarl’s hand and chatting amicably with Irileth for a few moments. The tension seemed to ease slightly as Aerik returned to his seat in between Teldryn and Nilandur. Teldryn squeezed his thigh affectionately, earning himself a wink as Aerik scooted his chair in.

 

“So, Jarl Ulfric,” Balgruuf began, voice tight. The two tables were just a bit too far apart to speak at a comfortable level, and the utterly passive-aggressive nature of the situation wasn’t lost on Teldryn. “What brought about this sudden change of heart?” Servants were beginning to set the food on the table in front of them - Teldryn heard Nilandur say ‘thank you’ to every item that was set down and laughed under his breath.

“You have the Dragonborn and his companions to thank,” Ulfric replied, a bit to Teldryn’s surprise. “They have reminded me of what is truly at stake.” 

“And what exactly is at stake?” Balgruuf pressed. “Aerik was a bit tight-lipped about it.” 

“As he should be. Thalmor spies are everywhere.”

Balgruuf let out a frustrated huff, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s always the damn Thalmor. You know I’m not happy with the Dominion’s presence in Skyrim, but you have to let the past be the past, Ulfric.”

Nilandur interjected, voice melodic and even. “A bit of an unfair thing to ask a prisoner of war, wouldn’t you agree?”

 

All eyes turned to the Altmer where he sat between Aerik and Ulfric. He held Balgruuf’s gaze steadily, expression neutral and hands folded on the table in front of him. Teldryn watched as Aerik picked up the goblet in front of him and begin to fill it with wine from the nearest bottle he could grab. 

Balgruuf was studying the high elf with narrowed eyes. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“This is Nilandur,” Ulfric answered. “One of my new advisors.” 

“An Altmer?” Irileth laughed bitterly. Her eyes flitted to Teldryn momentarily. “You share your table with elves now?”

“As I said,” Ulfric continued, “I was reminded of who the true enemy is.”  

“The Thalmor,” Balgruuf sighed, rubbing his temples. “Please,” he gestured to the food in front of them, “let us eat before our food grows cold. Or before we lose our appetites.” 

 

Teldryn picked at his food as best he could, though Balgruuf had most certainly predicted the loss of appetite. The tension in the room was thick and they ate in near silence, not to mention he kept accidentally catching Irileth’s eye. His fellow Dunmer was looking at him as though he were a traitor, and in all honesty he was beginning to feel like one. He subtly gazed down the table, past Aerik, who was also picking somewhat sourly at his food. Nilandur was cutting his vegetables into small bites and murmuring something to Ulfric too low for Teldryn to hear. He suddenly felt a wave of frustration at the Altmer and turned back to his food to prevent himself from accidentally giving nasty looks. Aerik was still steadily consuming wine beside him, but Teldryn knew better than to tell him to slow down. 

 

After the food was finished and the servants were beginning to clear the tables, Balgruuf stood up. “Let us relocate, so that we may discuss these matters more privately.” He walked towards the set of stairs to the right of his throne, and slowly, silently, the rest of the dinner party began to follow, save for Proventus and Farengar, who meandered back to their usual posts. Once again, Teldryn found himself standing around a table with a large map on it. Aerik shuffled in close next to him and he felt his husband’s warm hand slide across his lower back, curling to rest around his hip. 

 

“Now,” Balgruuf began, rapping his knuckles on the table. “I’ve been as patient as I can be regarding this whole ordeal and the secrets you seem to be keeping from me. My city is barely holding itself together because of this damn war - the Empire is breathing down my neck, the cost of goods isn’t getting any lower, and Talos worship is still banned. So, please, explain to me what in Oblivion the Thalmor are doing that is so much worse than the damage they’ve already done?” 

 

Teldryn heard Aerik take a deep breath beside him, as if preparing to speak, removing his hand from around Teldryn’s waist. 

“The Thalmor have always been a group of zealots,” Ulfric began instead. “You know this much, at least. All of their goals and motivations stem back to their religious tenets, especially regarding the worship of Talos. They believe it is a disgrace to have a god-king from the race of man among the Divines, heresy, especially since the Thalmor believe their own race to be superior to all others.”

“I’m not sure about that last part,” Balgruuf grumbled, straightening up. 

“It’s true, I’m afraid.” Nilandur stepped closer to the table, his hands laced behind his back. “This has been an unfortunate… prejudice of my people for hundreds, if not thousands of years at this point. It appears that the Thalmor have finally taken it to the extreme.” 

“Extreme in what sense?” Irileth asked, eyes narrow and trained on Nilandur. 

“They want the Altmeri race to attain divinity,” Aerik answered, drawing all eyes to him. “They see themselves as prisoners on this plane, slaves to mortality. So, as any logical person of sound mind and body might conclude, they want to destroy Mundus and become gods once again, starting by wiping out the races of men and erasing their influence on the Divines.” 

 

Silence followed. Teldryn watched Balgruuf’s and Irileth’s shifting expressions, moving from confusion, to disbelief, to amusement. 

“That’s absurd,” Irileth laughed. 

Balgruuf nodded in agreement. “I’m sorry, Aerik. But that sounds like something I’d hear in a tavern from a drunkard, not from the Dragonborn. Where on Nirn did you hear such a conspiracy?” 

“From the Thalmor themselves.” Aerik put his hands on his hips, shifting his weight onto one foot. He smirked. “You can ask me how we got the information, but you probably know it’s not a nice answer.” To Teldryn’s surprise, this got a low chuckle out of Irileth. She rubbed a hand over her eyes in frustration before looking to Balgruuf expectantly. The Nord appeared to be deep in thought, stroking his beard. 

He turned back to Ulfric. “So why the moot, then?”

Ulfric took a long moment before he spoke, holding Balgruuf’s gaze with a calm, steady expression. 

 

“I did not intend to start a war when I challenged and defeated Torygg,” he began, voice low. “My intention was to replace a weak and naive king. To help guide Skyrim away from the influence of the elves. The Dominion,” he corrected quickly, “which currently has the Empire on a short tether. We give them an inch, we allow them to take Talos from us, then where will it end? My suspicions were confirmed when the Dragonborn arrived with the news of the Thalmor’s clandestine intentions behind banning Talos worship.” He sighed heavily, looking briefly to Nilandur. “We are hoping that, with the support from all the Jarls, the Dominion can be pushed out of Skyrim for good.” 

“With what army?” Irileth all but spat. “Miraculously, I don’t disagree with you, but what you’re asking would involve convincing the Empire to forfeit its truce with the Dominion. You were in the Great War. You saw the utter destruction the Dominion armies are capable of. Not to mention _you_ , specifically, have put our own country under incredible stress for nearly six years now. At this point it’s a cold war - we’ve been stuck, completely stagnant, each side waiting for the other to make its move. People are _starving to death_ in the more rural parts of the country. The damn Empire is spending too many resources and too much money on keeping this petty war going, and the people of Skyrim are suffering because of it. Is this what you imagined, _Jarl_ Ulfric, when you set out to challenge the High King?” 

 

Teldryn felt as though the air had been sucked out of the room - the righteous fury behind Irileth’s eyes was one that he recognized well, though her words made him feel ignorant and ashamed. He and Aerik believed themselves to live humble lives, yet never once had they gone without a meal or wondered if they’d have enough money to make it through a week. He sighed heavily, looking to his husband. Aerik’s expression seemed to imply that he was feeling similarly. 

“This war has gone on for too long, I agree,” Ulfric spoke after a heavy moment of silence. “But I still cannot willingly hand the country over to the Empire. Not while the Thalmor still pull their strings. However, if we, as Jarls, can agree to resolve our internal conflicts and regain some of Skyrim’s independence...” 

“The country is still divided, Ulfric,” Balgruuf pointed out. “And the Empire wants you dead.” 

Ulfric nodded dispassionately. “Killing me would not solve anything. If anything, it would make people angrier.”

“I believe the solution, as with all things, lies in compromise,” Nilandur spoke finally. “Unfortunately, the difficulty in this is deciding what exactly these compromises should entail, though it would be preferable if execution were left out of it.” He laughed nervously. 

“Well,” Balgruuf straightened up. “You have until the moot to figure out what you’re willing to concede. And if you think that the rest of the Jarls are going to believe this… this _Thalmor conspiracy_ , then you are sorely mistaken. Even if you do have the Dragonborn on your side.” 

“I’m not _on his side_ , I’m on Skyrim’s side!” Aerik protested angrily. “The Thalmor are maniacs! And if they’re planning what we think they’re planning, then it’s not just our rights at stake here. They could destroy half the country. Forget the religious aspect or the whole ‘divinity’ bullshit - their plan could involve bringing down the Throat of the World. Whiterun would be flattened!” 

 

Balgruuf looked at Aerik long and hard, brow creased, mouth set into a grim line. He glanced to Irileth, who had one eyebrow cocked and an amused quirk on her lips. Teldryn sighed, rubbing the heel of his hands against his eyes. They sounded absolutely insane, and there was no way to convince anyone otherwise. 

“If that is the case, Dragonborn,” Balgruuf sighed, “then perhaps this is an issue that is better solved through force, and not through politics. And who better to come to Skyrim’s aid than her protector of legend? It wouldn’t be the first time you cut through these formalities to take the actions you saw fit. If you are so concerned about this threat, what are you waiting for?”

Aerik sputtered in disbelief, letting his arms fall to his side. “Without your support, without _Skyrim’s_ support, I would be committing serious crimes against the Empire and the Dominion. Are you willing to stand up on my behalf if it’s my head on the chopping block?”

“Of course, Aerik,” Balgruuf assured, and it was the most sincere he’d sounded all evening. “But until you can show me definitive proof that the Thalmor are a threat in this new and terrifying way, I have to keep one foot grounded in reality. Surely you understand.” 

“We do,” Teldryn said with a nod, finally choosing to speak. “It is a difficult situation. And we understand how outlandish it all sounds. But so long as we can count you as an ally in the end, I suppose that’s all we can ask of you at this juncture.” 

 

With that, there seemed to be a silent decision that anything that could have been said, had been, and the party dispersed. 

“Walk with me,” Ulfric said quietly to Nilandur after dismissing Galmar. 

The Altmer nodded, looking over to Aerik and Teldryn. “I shall be back to the house a bit later.” 

“Have a good fucking chat,” Aerik growled bitterly, and Teldryn placed his hands on his husband’s shoulders, guiding him back downstairs as Ulfric and Nilandur made their way towards Dragonsreach’s balcony. Aerik swiped another bottle of wine off one of the long tables as they strode past, taking an angry swig as they made their way out of the great hall. 

 

“The fucking nerve of _all_ of them!” Aerik was ranting loudly all the way down the steps. “They expect me to just, what, mop up this entire mess? The Thalmor aren’t a fucking dragon! I can’t just… I’m a dragon slayer, not a godsdamned general!”

“I think the concept is too abstract for Jarl Balgruuf to wrap his head around,” Teldryn attempted to reason. “So they’re simply shoving the issue into your lap.

Aerik made a rude noise, well on his way to being belligerently drunk. “They don’t care about anything but power and money. So long as they get to have their little political drama, and watch it unfold from the cushion of a Jarl’s throne, they don’t give a _fuck_ what happens to Skyrim. Or Nirn, for that matter.” Aerik took a long pull from his wine bottle as they reached the market. Though it was well past sunset, there were still a few people milling around, almost all of whom were watching Aerik warily. 

“My love,” Teldryn began gently. 

Aerik pointed a finger at his chest, eyes unsteady. “I’m gonna suck your dick when we get home.” 

“Alright, that’s quite enough public drunkenness,” Teldryn scolded, steering Aerik down the street and corralling him into their house.

 

///

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _~Political Bullshit~_  
>  Poor Aerik. At least he'll probably get laid.
> 
> Also, I LIED - this chapter ended up being WAY too long to include the initial POV shift that I wanted to throw in there, so stay tuned for the next chapter which will be **A Look into the Life and Times of Nilandur: Ex-Monk, Vegetarian, and Accidental Political Consort.** (Emphasis on political, because y'all are already thirsty...)
> 
> Much love to you, my readers! <3


	16. Dragonsreach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [FourCatProductions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCatProductions) for the swift and thorough beta for this chapter!! His comments and suggestions were absolutely brilliant and if y'all have not read his work, I cannot recommend it enough.

Nilandur closed the massive doors of Dragonsreach’s balcony as quietly as he could. He wiped his palms habitually against his surcoat, anxious. Aerik’s parting words had left him feeling a bit ill.  Ulfric was several paces ahead of him walking towards the overlook, hands clasped behind his back. Nilandur felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, sensing eyes on him, and looking up, he caught sight of a guard on the nearby balcony, helmeted head turned in his direction. He stepped quickly to catch up with Ulfric, drawing a subtle haze of magicka around them, ensuring that anyone who might overhear their conversation would recall hearing nothing but gibberish.

 

Ulfric placed his hands against the stone railing, looking out across the landscape. He sighed heavily through his nose. 

“I feel as though I have lost my fire.” 

“How so, Jarl Ulfric?” Masser and Secunda dominated the sky and Nilandur felt smaller than usual. Ulfric turned to look at him as he approached, one hand still gripping the stone. 

“The dark elf was right. This war has grown cold. My men are tired. I’m tired. And what have we accomplished?” He turned to look back out over the land, grip tightening around the masonry. “We re-took Markarth, but we lost the Rift. And even that was only because of the Dragonborn’s truce two years ago. We’ve been at a stalemate, simply defending land we’ve claimed. And it’s a land that belongs to all of us, not something to divide and keep like selfish children.”

 

Nilandur moved to stand at his side, taking a deep breath and lifting his chin. A silhouette of a dragon drifted across the sky miles off in the distance. 

“You said…” he cleared his throat. “If I remember correctly, when we first entered your… when we first arrived at the Palace of the Kings, you were saying that you were fighting so that all the fighting you’d done already wouldn’t have been for nothing.” He paused, gauging Ulfric’s expression. “So, if only to jog your memory, what were you fighting for then?” 

 

Ulfric smiled to himself, a glimmer of self-deprecation in the tight curl of his lips. He looked at Nilandur out of the corner of his eye. 

“I know what you’re doing.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nilandur retorted, crossing his arms and looking back out across the plains, failing to suppress a smirk. Ulfric let out a low, rumbling chuckle, pushing off the railing and walking back towards the long table that sat just behind them. Falling heavily into one of the chairs, he picked up a jug, filling a nearby goblet with wine. He looked to Nilandur, gesturing with the jug questioningly.

“No, thank you,” Nilandur responded automatically with a polite wave, stepping towards the table. 

Ulfric raised an eyebrow. “I can’t imagine wanting to remain completely sober after all of that,” he murmured, causing Nilandur to laugh. 

“Well…” he considered, “perhaps just a small bit then.” Ulfric smiled sideways, beginning to pour. 

“Just a small bit!” Nilandur repeated with another laugh, sitting down diagonally from the man. 

“You golden elves are all lightweights,” Ulfric huffed, handing Nilandur the cup and taking a pull from his own. 

Nilandur chuckled again before taking a small sip. “You say that as though you drink with Altmer often.”

“It’s becoming a bad habit.” They shared a grin. Nilandur took another tentative sip of his wine, waiting to see if Ulfric would actually answer his question. 

 

“What I was fighting for,” Ulfric began after a long moment, “was justice.”

“Hmm.” Nilandur hummed through a sip. “Seems noble enough.” 

“Now, though, I feel as though my sense of justice was skewed. I was young. Angry. It was as if there was a storm growing inside my heart. It grew to be so immense that it was all I knew - all I could feel. And even when the Great War ended, the storm was still there, if not doubled in size.” He took another long drink of wine, staring into his cup pensively. “And I come back to my country, after seeing countless men and women lay down their lives against the tyranny of the Dominion, to what? Our culture and our traditions ripped from our hands,  _ outlawed _ . Markarth overrun with Forsworn, and the Jarls looked to me to re-take it. Of course the Empire acts grateful, gives us back the worship of Talos, only to turn their backs on the agreement like cowards, too afraid of the damn elves to even keep a basic promise.” 

 

Ulfric was rambling, but Nilandur was content to listen, to let him work through the question. He’d spoken of Markarth only once before, but never in detail, and almost as though the event had happened to someone else. 

“All the while, the Thalmor were trying to use the small bit of leverage they still had over me to gain whatever political insight they thought they could garner. And the Empire just cowered and groveled, and Torygg agreed to everything. I’d had  _ enough _ .” He sighed, gaze turning to the moons, remaining silent for a long moment. 

“Well,” Nilandur began softly. “If I am allowed to make a bold statement here, it seems that stagnation might be exactly what the Thalmor want.”

Ulfric looked at him, brow creased. “Explain.”

Nilandur took one last quick sip of wine before setting the cup down, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap. 

“In all my research over the past month, I’ve begun to see a curious pattern emerge concerning Thalmor activity. Currently the country is incredibly unstable. As… ah, I’m afraid I didn’t catch her name. But as the Dunmer woman said, the Empire is funneling a good deal of its money and resources into maintaining this war, making it weak. Vulnerable. The Thalmor seem to thrive off of this fact, hinging their power off the destabilization of both Skyrim and your connection to the Empire. If anything, you may have enough leverage going into the moot to gain some of your initial demands, but also, simply helping to end the war would be an act of rebellion in and of itself.” 

 

Ulfric’s face was clouded with anger, knuckles white as he gripped his cup. “Are you implying that the Thalmor have not only been  _ allowing _ Skyrim to tear itself apart, but would prefer this war continue indefinitely?” 

“It’s almost obvious that that’s what they want, Jarl Ulfric. They want the Empire crippled. You played right into their hands.” Nilandur took a sharp breath and recoiled as Ulfric slammed his cup down and stood abruptly. “I do not  _ blame _ you! I’m just giving you a perspective to consider. Working to end this war is the best move against the Thalmor, even if it means rescinding some of your initial reasons for starting it.”

“I did not  _ want _ to start a war!” Ulfric almost yelled. He quickly closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. 

 

Nilandur watched warily as Ulfric slowly sat back down, reaching for the jug of wine and upending the rest of its contents into his cup. He let a few more beats of silence pass between them before speaking again. 

“Jarl Ulfric…”

“Do not,” Ulfric put a hand up, sighing loudly and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I will not back down like a coward - like a wounded dog with a tucked tail. I have fought for too long, lost too many lives, to simply let them have their way.” 

“There is nothing cowardly about compromise,” Nilandur insisted. “But you must ask yourself what you value more: a war-torn, exiled country under your own rule, or a country that, though imperfect, can stand united and work towards a common goal.”

 

Bitter silence stretched between them as Ulfric looked down at the table, slumped sideways in his seat. Nilandur picked up his cup and finished off the last of the wine, setting it down softly and dabbing his mouth against the back of his sleeve.

“We can create a list of your terms - things you’re willing to bend for, and others for which you will not. I’m here to help you, Jarl Ulfric,” he tried, drawing Ulfric’s gaze to him. 

“Why?” The Nord rumbled. “Why are you here to help me?”

 

Nilandur opened his mouth, then closed it again. It was a question he didn’t quite know the answer to himself, so he held Ulfric’s gaze. He always felt as though the man were trying to take him apart, to look inside him, to try to find deception or deceit or the slightest fracture that might indicate betrayal. Nilandur didn’t blame him for that. 

“I feel as though it is my calling,” he decided, then tilted his head. “And because you’re too stubborn to ask for help.”

Ulfric chuckled lowly. “You speak as though you know me well.”

“Am I wrong, then?” 

“No. Though I do find it to be cruel irony that I have picked a golden elf to be my confidant.” He smiled in an unguarded kind of way, and Nilandur felt a small bud of warmth unfurl in his chest.

 

Nilandur cleared his throat after realizing he’d been staring at Ulfric for a bit too long. “We can begin to discuss your terms tomorrow,” he said a little hurriedly, uncrossing his legs and getting to his feet. Ulfric took a final sip of his wine before doing the same.

“The Dragonborn’s theory will hold no weight if the other Jarls are anything like Balgruuf.” Ulfric pulled on one of his braids, a distant look on his face. “I do not know where my leverage will lie.” 

“The best allyship comes from a common enemy,” Nilandur suggested. “We simply need to remind the Jarls of the dangers that the Thalmor present - even without the threat of apocalypse. They need something more concrete to rally behind.” Ulfric looked out across the landscape, his eyes slightly unfocused. A long stretch of silence passed between them. 

“Come,” Nilandur finally suggested, placing a hand on Ulfric’s shoulder as he passed. “I believe it’s best to sleep on these things. We can approach everything again with fresh eyes tomorrow.”      

 

They walked silently out of Dragonsreach, side by side. Ulfric politely bid him goodnight as they passed the Gray-Mane’s house and they parted ways without much fanfare. Nilandur took his time walking back down to Breezehome. He took a deep breath, enjoying the smells of high summer. He paused in the deserted market, gazing up at the aurora borealis as rippled across the sky.  _ Skyrim _ , he thought to himself,  _ appropriately named.  _

 

Breezehome was quiet when he pushed through the door. He still felt a tad guilty for kicking Lydia out of her bedroom once again, though she nearly came to blows insisting he take it. The wine he’d had with Ulfric had made him feel slightly light-headed, so he took a moment to shuffle through the dining room and slice a piece of bread for himself. He held the slice between his teeth as he unlaced his boots and placed them near the weapons rack at the door - they were beginning to look a bit dry and cracked. He’s have to remember to ask Aerik for leather oil tomorrow. He padded softly up the stairs, chewing the bread as he went. 

 

He had one hand on his bedroom door when he heard what sounded like a long moan drift from Aerik and Teldryn’s room. Nilandur felt himself flush from his chest all the way to the tips of his ears, and he swallowed his bite of bread thickly. He pushed quickly into the room and shut the door behind him, feeling thoroughly embarrassed. He swiftly undressed, pulling on a soft tunic and loose-fitting linen pants. Obscene noises were still drifting steadily beneath the crack of his door as he neatly folded his fine clothes. It felt as though his head might catch fire with how hotly his face burned. He looked at his bed, as well as the collection of books that sat nearby. It wouldn’t be nearly enough of distraction. A loud slap made him jump, followed by more wanton vocalizations. 

“Oh, by Auri-El…” he huffed, opening the door to his room and skittering back down the stairs. He glanced at his shoes briefly, but decided against them, stepping back out into the night barefoot.

 

The smooth stones of the main thoroughfare still felt slightly warm beneath his feet as he took a moment to stand and decide what to do. Surely their… activities wouldn’t take more than an hour. Would they? He swallowed, trying not to think about the logistics of it. He decided to wander through the Plains District a bit, weaving between the houses, admiring the small gardens. He jogged lightly and near silently up the back set of stairs that led to the Wind District, studying the distinct Nordic architecture and smiling at the intricate carvings of animal heads and swirling motifs. He was beginning to greatly appreciate Nord sensibility - everything was straightforward and practical, but accomplished with a sort of reverence that made even the smallest detail seem purposeful and important.

 

He wandered past the Gray-Mane house, noticing that the first floor guest room’s light was out, and figured that Ulfric was well on his way to sleep at this point. Nilandur tucked a stray hair behind his ear, smiling to himself. The easy companionship he’d found in Ulfric had taken him by surprise, especially given how  _ severe _ the man could be. There was something about him, though, that Nilandur couldn’t quite place. It fascinated him, and despite feeling a creeping, ever present shame around the notion, Nilandur very much looked forward to time spent with Ulfric. 

 

He crossed the small footbridge that lead to the Gildergreen’s courtyard, breathing the sweet scent; pink blossoms rustled ever so slightly in the warm breeze that blew down from Dragonsreach. Smoke spiraled steadily out of Jorrvaskr, and everywhere he looked Nilandur was slowly falling more in love with Whiterun. 

 

Movement near the Shrine of Talos caught his attention - someone was kneeling with their back to him just across the small stream that encircled the courtyard. Nilandur thought about leaving them be and heading back down to Breezehome, but curiosity got the better of him. As he approached he couldn’t help but let out a small laugh as he realized who it was.

“Jarl Ulfric,” he greeted. Ulfric looked up at him from where he knelt as Nilandur stepped nimbly over the quietly babbling water. He had clearly been meditating.

“I… I’m sorry. I’m interrupting you.”

“Not a problem,” Ulfric rumbled, motioning at the ground next to him. “You’re welcome to join me.” 

 

Nilandur dithered for a moment, still feeling a bit guilty for his intrusion, but ended up lowering himself to the ground, crossing his legs. 

“Do the Psijics pray?” Ulfric asked.

“Ah, not exactly.” Nil straightened his posture. “We meditate.” 

Ulfric nodding in understanding, taking a deep breath. “The Greybeards do as well. Usually on a  _ Rotmulaag _ .” His pronunciation of the word was deep and guttural. “A word of power in the dragon tongue.” 

“Do you still meditate on them? The words, I mean.” 

Ulfric shook his head. “I have not used the  _ Thu’um _ since the fight with Torygg.” He looked down at his hands, balling them into fists against his knees. “This position is painful to sit in for long nowadays. But I try to pray to Talos every night, if I can help it.” 

Nilandur looked up at the statue, studying the facial expression they’d given the god-king. 

“And what do you ask?” 

“For guidance, mostly,” Ulfric sighed. “Wisdom. Forgiveness.” 

“Does Talos have the ability to forgive?” 

Ulfric turned to look at him, the circles beneath his eyes somehow more prominent in the flickering light of the votive candles at Talos’s feet. “I think perhaps he is the only one who will forgive me when my time here is done.” And there it was. Nilandur recognized it, then - the thing that drew him to Ulfric. The man was  _ lonely _ . It was a feeling Nilandur knew well.

 

“I somehow manage to keep running into elves at the shrine of Talos,” Ulfric grumbled, but with no real ill will behind his words. 

“Ah, yes… Teldryn told us about that,” Nilandur huffed, mildly amused. 

“I was,” Ulfric scrubbed a hand across his face, running his thumb and forefinger along his jaw. “I was unkind.” 

“Is that why you gave him the sword, then? To apologize?”

“I gave him the sword because he earned it - Galmar acted as my eyes when you all went to retrieve the Crown. He told me the dark elf fought like a seasoned warrior and barely batted an eye when faced with multiple opponents.” It was a good enough answer. 

 

“Aerik and Teldryn are both fierce fighters,” Nilandur commented quietly, deciding to shift the subject. “They make me feel utterly useless.”  

“No need for that,” Ulfric assured. “You are a gifted healer and an incredibly skilled diplomat - quite a feat considering how long you’ve been removed from modern politics. Your input has been invaluable to me.” 

Nilandur felt his face heating at the complement. He ducked his head, hiding his smile behind his hair. “You are too kind.” 

“I am not kind,” Ulfric insisted. “I am merely honest.” 

“You are kind, though. In your own way.” Nilandur angled his head to look over at the man. “I can see it, you know. You try very hard to hide it, but you don’t do a very good job.” Ulfric seemed to study his face for a moment, forehead creased. He let out an amused huff, his expression softening into something more pleasant and easy.

 

“Why were you out wandering around, Nilandur?” Ulfric asked after a beat. Nil felt his face grow even hotter and he averted his eyes.  

He cleared his throat. “Ah… to give the residents of the house some, uh, privacy.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking over to Jorrvaskr. “They were being quite… loud.” To his surprise he heard Ulfric begin to laugh. It started out as  quiet huffs through his nose, slowly building into a low, rumbling chuckle. Nil looked over with an air of frustration, but felt his breath catch - Ulfric’s smile, his true smile, was something he had yet to really see. And despite everything, despite his shame, despite all the signs pointing to the contrary, Nilandur found him to be quite beautiful when he smiled. 

 

“What is so funny about that?” he asked, using his annoyance to mask the squeeze around his heart. 

“I suppose I just enjoy seeing you flustered,” Ulfric confessed, smiling openly at him. “A crack in that pristine elven veneer.” 

“I don’t have a… a  _ veneer _ ,” Nilandur protested, trying to keep a smile off his face. He failed terribly, hiding behind his hair again. Ulfric continued to chuckle as he moved to stand, a small groan of pain escaping as he pushed up to one knee. 

“Please.” Nilandur sprung to his feet, offering a hand. “Let me help.” 

Ulfric knocked it away. “Spare me, elf,” he grumbled, pressing firmly against his knee to finish getting to his feet. “Let an old man get up with his dignity in tact.” 

“There’s no loss of dignity in asking for help,” Nilandur pointed out, smiling smugly. 

Ulfric huffed through his nose. “So you’ve said before.” 

 

Ulfric stepped stiffly across the small stream, stumbling slightly. Nilandur hovered nearby, but kept his hands by his side. They walked toward the Gray-Mane’s house in silence for the second time that evening. 

“Thank you for letting me join you.” Nilandur bowed. “I’m sorry to have been a distraction.” 

“I hope you go home to a slightly less… raucous household,” Ulfric said with a sly smirk as Nilandur blushed deeply. 

“Surely those types of activities don’t take terribly long,” he mumbled, and Ulfric chuckled easily again. 

“Sleep well, Nilandur,” he rumbled, giving Nil a thoughtful look. 

“You as well, Jarl Ulfric.” 

 

Neither of them moved for a moment, as if still trying to figure the other one out. Finally, Ulfric sighed heavily through his nose, turned, and pushed into the house. Nilandur backed away slowly, watching the door as it closed. His feet were cold, but there was a warmth around his heart that almost frightened him. He padded carefully back down the main stairs that lead to the market, clutching a hand to his chest, fiddling with the necklace that Kalatar had given him, usually kept hidden beneath his vestments. He looked down at the pendant, rubbing a thumb across the black stone in its center, wondering where his friend was at that moment. If he might ever see him again.           

 

Thankfully, Breezehome was silent as Nilandur pushed through the front door, closing it quietly behind him and pressing his forehead against the cool planks. He stilled for a moment before letting out a small laugh and shaking his head. He took some time to sit by the fire and wash the dirt from his feet with a damp rag before stepping soundlessly up the stairs to his room. He slid beneath the covers, thoroughly exhausted, and let his mind wander aimlessly as he began to drift off. He dreamt of wine and Skyrim’s sky, Nordic architecture and a smiling Talos.      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't necessarily like when people excuse Ulfric's actions and beliefs in fic, so I hope you gentle readers don't think that's my goal here. However, my intention is not to treat him as some kind of secondary villain, but as a fully fleshed-out person with moral ambiguity and old prejudices, but also allow him the ability to grow. I didn't actually plan on he and Nilandur developing any sort of friendship when I originally plotted this story, but it seemed to happen naturally. 
> 
> Anyhoo! This won't be the only chapter from Nilandur's perspective, so hopefully you all liked this little glimpse into the way his mind works!


	17. The Scripture of the City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _'All cities are born of solid light. Such is my city, his city._
> 
>  
> 
> _'But then the light subsides, revealing the bright and terrible angel of Veloth. He is in his pre-chimerical form, demonic VEHK, gaunt and pale and beautiful, skin stretched painfully thin on bird's bones, feathered serpents encircling his arms. His wings are spread out behind him, their red and yellow ends like razors in the sun. The wispy mass of his fire hair floats as if underwater, milky in the nimbus of light that crowns his head. His presence is undeniable, the awe too much to bear._
> 
>  
> 
> -Sermon Twenty-Five
> 
> \--
> 
> Thank you [FourCatProductions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCatProductions/pseuds/FourCatProductions) once again for a fantastic beta job! (And to [Itoadreamer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ltoadreamer/pseuds/ltoadreamer) for jumping in and reviewing some SPAG as well!)

Another week passed, and almost all of the Jarls had responded to the call to hold the moot, save for one - Elisif. If Ulfric was anxious, it didn’t show, but his level-headed demeanor didn’t stop Nilandur from being a nervous wreck over it. Teldryn had been doing his best to keep both father and son from driving themselves insane, either from boredom or worry, and he felt his own sanity slipping in the process. Mostly they just needed to stay busy. Currently, Aerik was out taking care of a wolf problem for one of the farms in Whiterun’s hold, so Teldryn seized the opportunity to ask Nilandur for some informal lessons on magic, if only to distract the mer. The weather was nice, so they chose to hold the lesson out back of the house, near the small alchemical garden Teldryn had been cultivating. They sat cross-legged across from each other on a soft patch of grass.  

 

“As you’ve already started to find out, magicka extends far beyond the channel we’re able to tap into for basic, somatic spells.” Nilandur snapped his fingers and flattened his hand, creating a small thunderstorm overtop his palm. “One of the first lessons that Initiates of the Order must learn is to cast spells without the use of their hands.” He tucked his hands against his lap and a small lightning strike materialized before him, browning a patch of grass. He smiled at Teldryn. “You’ve been doing this quite naturally, it seems, with your interactions with fire.” 

“Yes, but I can’t do it with anything else,” Teldryn huffed.

“I wouldn’t expect you to! Not without having previously learned how to control such a thing. It requires thinking differently. Change your mind and you change the world around you.” He winked as though it were an inside joke. “Firstly, though, let’s start with producing flame without the use of your hands.”

 

They sat in silence for almost five minutes as Teldryn stared intensely at the brown spot on the grass where Nilandur had produced the lightening. His imagination was vivid, producing images of firestorms and volcanos, of raging forest fires and utter destruction. The grass remained unphased. 

“So...” Nilandur interjected tentatively, and Teldryn leaned back, sighing loudly. 

“Useless.” 

“No, no!” Nilandur shook his head. “Not at all! You weren’t really meant to succeed the first time.”

“You mean you were just allowing me sit there and look constipated as some sort of exercise?” Teldryn let out a bark of a laugh, tipping his head back to look up at the clouds. “Consider me humbled.”

“Not at all, Teldryn,” Nilandur laughed, reaching out and patting his knee. “But tell me, what were you thinking about?” 

 

Teldryn leaned forward again, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “Oh, you know.  _ Fire _ . In its most natural forms - forces of nature. Volcanoes... the like.” He shrugged, but Nilandur was nodding thoughtfully. 

“So you were picturing fire as an element that exists outside of yourself,” he pointed out, and Teldryn supposed he hadn’t really thought of it that way before. He said as much, which earned more thoughtful nodding. 

“This is the first thing to unblock - the idea that you,” he tapped a long finger against Teldryn’s chest, over his heart, “and magicka are somehow separate things. That you’re  _ using _ magicka and not simply interacting with something that already exists. The fire is already there!” He motioned to the empty air above the browned patch of grass. “You just have to realize that the potential for fire is always  _ already there _ .” 

“And how, pray tell, might I go about realizing such a thing?” Teldryn didn’t mean to be rude, but he didn’t enjoy feeling stupid, and so far he was having a bit of trouble following. 

 

“What do you feel when you manipulate fire in your new way now?” Nilandur asked instead of answering. 

Teldryn thought for a minute. “Oddly enough, it feels like water. Almost like a tide.” 

“Yes!” Nilandure clapped his hands. “That’s wonderful! That’s perfect. That means you’re already feeling it.” 

“What is ‘ _ it’ _ ?” 

“The Weave! You’re feeling the flow of the Weave. You feel the fire that already exists - now you must simply feel the fire that does not yet exist, but  _ could _ .”

 

Teldryn scratched his head, feeling very much like an old dog being taught new tricks. He let out a long breath, focusing back on the little burnt spot again. Instead of conjuring up images of natural disasters, he tried instead to reach out into the Weave, as he had apparently already been doing. It took longer this time without actual fire nearby, but eventually he felt it - the subtle push and pull, lapping gently at the periphery of his senses. He vaguely wondered if that was what Nilandur felt all the time. Interestingly enough, the push and pull soon started to manifest in his line of sight, almost like he actually  _ was _ underwater. The grass began to smoke and Nilandur was smiling from ear to ear. 

“That’s it?” Teldryn asked, losing concentration after a moment, scowling at the now even darker patch of grass. “A little bit of smoke. Well done! Go Teldryn. Where’s my sweetroll?” 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Nilandur scolded with a chuckle. “This is completely new.”

 

They got up and stretched, taking a break for lunch at Nilandur’s suggestion. They made their way around to the front of the house just in time to see Aerik strolling up with two wolf pelts draped over his shoulder. He beamed at Teldryn, dropping the pelts by the door to trot over and give him an enthusiastic kiss, wrapping him up tightly.

“Well,” Teldryn chuckled as they parted. “Didn’t know a few hours away would make you miss me so much.”

“Darling, I miss you when you walk into a different room,” Aerik proclaimed, still holding Teldryn around the waist. 

He ruffled Aerik’s hair affectionately before cupping the back of his neck. “Ever the dramatist.” 

“Mhmm, and how did the magic lessons go?” 

“Splendid!” Nilandur said over his shoulder as he stepped around the pelts and disappeared into the house.

“Frustratingly slow,” Teldryn amended, pulling away as Aerik finally released him. “I see the pest problem was easily dealt with.” He nodded to the pelts. 

Aerik ginned before giving him another kiss. “All in a day’s work. Shall we have lunch?”

“Please. I’m famished.”

 

The three of them conversed idly over lunch, which consisted purely of vegetables to Nilandur’s delight. Once they’d finished up, he excused himself and promised Teldryn that they’d pick back up with their lessons tomorrow. 

“Ulfric business?” Aerik asked with a smirk. 

Nil chuckled. “I suppose you could put it that way, but yes. He and Balgruuf are having another meeting and I find they do best with someone acting as an intermediary.” 

“You’re a more patient mer than I’ll ever be,” Teldryn said dryly. 

“I believe you’re selling yourself short,” Nilandur offered with a laugh before bidding them good day and quietly leaving. The door closed and Aerik was immediately giving Teldryn a  _ look _ , which he returned with one of his own. They laughed and he allowed Aerik to pull him out of his seat and lead him upstairs.

 

It was pleasantly warm outside, but quite hot in the upper story of their house, and Teldryn was more than happy to be rid of his clothes once they were up there. The mid-afternoon sun shone brightly through the rippling glass windows, casting prisms of light across the wooden floorboards. He sighed into Aerik’s mouth as they kissed lazily on their bed, droplets of sweat already beading around his hairline. Their bodies were pressed tight, Aerik impossibly warm atop him. He slid his hands down Teldryn’s body, his mouth following in their wake, leaving wet kisses at crucial junctures. Aerik’s dark blonde lashes stood out against the flush of his cheeks, hair falling across his eyes as he mouthed his way across Teldryn’s stomach, looking up as he nipped over his hip bone.

“Gorgeous creature,” Teldryn couldn’t help but purr, running a hand through Aerik’s hair. He leaned into the touch like a cat, smiling and closing his eyes. 

 

Aerik’s mouth felt almost cool around his cock compared to the heat of the room, and Teldryn breathed in deep, arching his neck and lifting his hips. Aerik groaned around him, setting a leisurely pace, and Teldryn couldn’t complain. The room was quiet, the outside bustle of the day slowing for high noon, waiting for the heat to pass. Teldryn let out a hiss as Aerik opened his throat and swallowed him down.

“Gods,” he groaned, reaching down to push Aerik’s hair out of his face, curling it into his fist to guide him. He felt Aerik’s blunt nails digging into his hips, small flecks of pain amidst the rolling pleasure, making him want it harder, faster,  _ more _ . But he stilled, releasing Aerik’s hair and stretching his arms up over his head, resting his eyes. Aerik pulled off with a wet sound and Teldryn’s cock slapped heavily against his stomach. 

“Can I… fuck you?” Aerik asked tentatively. 

Teldryn opened his eyes, looking at his husband thoughtfully. “As in  _ fuck _ me?” He clarified with the arch of his brow. He paused for a moment to think as Aerik took him back in hand, sucking affectionately on the head of his dick and batting his eyelashes. 

“None of that,” Teldryn chuckled, tipping his head back and digging the heel of his hands into his eyes. “Sure, why not?” he answered finally. 

“Yes!” Aerik exclaimed, hopping across the bed to open their bedside table. 

“Oh come now, it hasn’t been  _ that _ long,” Teldryn complained with an eye-roll. 

“No, don’t worry! I like that you make me work for it.” Aerik winked, uncorking their bottle of oil. “It’s more special that way.” 

“Yes,” Teldryn drawled, “because I’m certainly a delicate, virginal flower.”

“Mmm,” Aerik hummed through a close-mouthed smile. “Such a lovely flower.” 

 

Teldryn groaned loudly as Aerik’s mouth found his cock again and his clever fingers slowly worked their way inside of him. Teldryn relaxed as much as he could, breathing heavily through his nose, hyper-aware of how loud he sounded amidst the muffled quiet of the room. Aerik treated him like something precious - something to be savored - and when he finally pushed into him it was almost a relief to feel a little pain edging through the sweetness. Aerik ran his hands along Teldryn’s ribs, pressing their foreheads together and exhaling loudly.

“You’re in quite the mood,” Teldryn commented offhandedly, quietly startled by the intimacy of it all. Aerik cupped the back of his neck and kissed him, deep and slow, beginning to rock his hips. 

 

Teldryn’s breath hitched as he felt that deep, pulsing pleasure arc through him, squeezing his lungs. He kissed back fiercely, tightening his thighs around Aerik’s waist, pulling away if only to be able to breathe again. He couldn’t help the small, guttural noises he was making, as though they were being forced out of him against his will. Aerik was huffing heavily into his ear, lost in his own pleasure as he slid his hands beneath Teldryn’s back, holding him tighter, pressing their sweat-slick bodies impossibly closer. The silence of the room around them made the creak of the bed seem obscenely loud as Aerik drove into him, as if it were giving away their secrets. Aerik pulled back suddenly, grabbing one of Teldryn’s thighs and pulling his leg straight, resting an ankle against his shoulder and changing the angle entirely. Teldryn let out a hoarse shout as Aerik pressed in again, the drag of his cock vivid and sharp inside of him. Spots bubbled behind his closed eyelids, his hands scrambling to grab onto the headboard, anything to brace himself against the deep, rolling pleasure.

 

When Aerik finally took him in hand he bit his tongue against the noise that threatened to pry its way out of his mouth. His back curled, eyes squeezed shut, rivulets of sweat dripping down the back of his neck and from beneath his arms. He used his leverage against the headboard to push back harder, the primal slap of their skin only working to heighten the desperate, building need. He looked up, locking eyes with Aerik, and his husband was looking at him with such intensity that was almost too much. 

 

Somewhere in the room Teldryn heard the soft jingle of jewelry and his eyes grew wider as terror ripped through his chest. Aerik had thrown his head back, mouth slightly open, lost in ecstasy, pumping Teldryn’s cock wildly in time to his thrusts. Teldryn saw a figure shift behind Aerik, almost purely a shadow, heard the shimmering sound of bangles sliding against each other, of a metal glove, clawed fingers clicking together. 

“Please,” Teldryn breathed, and Aerik snapped his gaze back down to him, brow creased in concentration. 

“Come on,” he coaxed, pupils blown. Teldryn wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light, or possibly the haze of their passion, but in that moment Aerik’s eyes looked like they were two different colors. 

 

“Come for me.”

 

Teldryn’s climax tore through his body like a firestorm, white hot electricity blazing up his spine, pulsing in the soles of his feet, heightened by fear and desperation and the sense memory of cool hands running across his neck. Every muscle in his body contracted, his spine bending, arching, as Aerik continued to pump his cock, almost to the point of pain - but he didn’t want it to stop, he couldn’t even imagine asking for it to stop. He was vaguely aware of Aerik finishing, feeling the hot gush of his seed inside of him, but Teldryn’s mind seemed to hover just outside of his body. There was a faint buzzing in his ear and he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the ceiling, almost afraid of looking around the room. Aerik collapsed on top of him and he wrapped the man up in his arms instinctively, finally able to avert his gaze, pressing his face into the crook of Aerik’s shoulder like a frightened child. The buzz faded, as did the fear, and Teldryn was left feeling exhausted and slightly embarrassed. 

“I love you,” Aerik breathed against his face, kissing his temple. Teldryn shivered and held him tighter. 

 

///

 

Teldryn sat awake long after everyone else had gone to bed that evening. He stared unfocused into the fire, leaning heavily to one side, his chin resting in his hand. Running his thumb absentmindedly across the cover of  _ The Thirty-Six Lessons of Vivec _ , he idly wondered if he’d ever feel sane again. Sighing heavily, he straightened in his chair, flipping open the book at random. 

 

_ 'In the end, rejoice as a hostage released from drumming torment but that savors his wound. The drum breaks and you find it to be a nest of hornets, which is to say: your sleep is over.' _

 

Teldryn closed the book again, gripping it tightly and tapping its cover against his forehead. He let it fall into his lap, throwing his head back with a low, frustrated cry. 

“Why me?” he asked into the empty room. No response. 

 

In a fit of rage he rose quickly to his feet and tossed the sermons into the hearthfire, pushing into the flames with his magicka to create a sudden blast of heat and fury. As the fire slowly died back down, he saw the pages of the book curling in, collapsing into ash, and an immense wave of regret washed over him. He lifted his chin defiantly. What was done was done, and perhaps it was best to be rid of it once and for all. 

 

The front door snapped closed and Teldryn startled, looking up with wide eyes. The door hadn’t been open from what he could remember. A figure passed by the darkened window, heading  towards the market. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Teldryn grumbled, striding towards the door. His hand paused on the handle, the creeping feeling of deja vu washing over his body with a shudder. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing to see the ash wastes and the Red Mountain once again. 

 

He flung the door open with a little more force than necessary. The quiet night and empty Whiterun street greeted him, accompanied by the soft sounds of crickets in the distance - a warm summer breeze ruffled his hair when he looked up the path towards the market. The shadowy figure was still far ahead of him, turning  the corner up the steps towards the Gildergreen. Forgoing his shoes, he shut the door quietly behind him and began to sprint up the main thoroughfare. This felt like almost an exact repeat of his first dream, and he braced himself for the possibility of things taking a dark turn. He reached the stairs to the Winds District and took them two at a time. The Gildergreen swayed in a strong breeze, showering him in a wave of fluttering pink petals as he looked around. There was nobody in sight.

 

Teldryn cursed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to catch his breath, feeling foolish. His gaze wandered to the shrine of Talos, reminding him of Ulfric. Their confrontation felt like ages ago. With a sigh he began to walk towards it, skirting around the tree and hopping the small stream to stand before the statue. It looked almost exactly the same as the one Ulfric had in his palace - same pose, same sunken, expressionless eyes. 

 

“Magnificent, isn’t he?” 

 

Teldryn whirled around with a strangled yelp, stumbling backwards and bumping up against the statue. His hands trembled as he grasped the ledge.  _ It was him. By the gods, it was actually him _ . 

 

There, as plain as day, stood Vivec, looking like something out of place and time, impossibly tall and seemingly luminescent. Teldryn’s head spun as if he were suddenly drunk, pulse pounding loudly in his ears while his mind tried to process what his eyes were telling him. Vivec wore the traditional clothing he was always depicted in - a vibrant red sarong wrapped tightly about his waist, shoulders adorned with ornate, golden pauldron, the odd, metal glove clicking as he flexed the fingers of his right hand. A ghostly blue flame wreathed his head, undulating lazily, as if under water. His two-toned skin made Teldryn feel cross eyed, which wasn’t helped by the fact that Vivec appeared to be perfectly lit despite standing in near darkness, the stone beneath him illuminated slightly by his ethereal glow. He cocked his head to the side and the golden rings in his ears caught the light, and a sudden rush of wind caused the Gildergreen’s pink petals to swirl around his bare feet. He was just  _ staring _ , dark, mismatched eyes glittering curiously, impishly.  

 

“Is this a dream?” Teldryn finally asked. 

Vivec grinned, looking almost feral. “What an incredibly appropriate question!” he exclaimed, taking a step forward. Teldryn pressed himself harder against the statue, one hand falling to rest on the pommel of the steel greatsword that lay at Talos’s feet. He glanced down at it, calculating. 

“I wouldn’t,” Vivec cautioned, looking thoughtfully up at the stone figure. “It won’t go well.”

Teldryn exhaled shakily. “So this isn’t a dream, then?” 

“It’s all a dream,” Vivec said with a wink, hopping into the air and crossing his legs, hovering at about eye-height. “Waking. Sleeping. All things seen and unseen. Tell me, Teldryn.” His name on Vivec’s tongue was almost too unreal, as if this were all some kind of a joke. “What does it mean to face your true nature?” 

 

Teldryn slowly stood back up, pushing away from the statue of Talos. Vivec continued to hover in mid air, looking at Teldryn expectantly. 

“I’m…” He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Meanings…” Vivec nodded, smiling. “Signs. Signifiers. Symbols. Language.” He folded his hands behind his head, looking up at the sky. “A muddle of coded messages, mixed and mussed until you barely know what anyone is trying to say.”

“Why are you doing this?” Teldryn blurted. Vivec looked at him for a long moment, but didn’t answer. He simply turned his gaze back to the sky, the aurora borealis beginning to make its appearance. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be gone? Vanished? Why suddenly show back up?” Teldryn waved his arms with a flourish, feeling more and more frustrated. “And why me?” 

 

“Questions within questions,” Vivec tutted. “Mystery of great mysteries. And what if I answered these of you? Would you be able to see more clearly, or would the water only become more turbulent?” He leaned forward suddenly with a broad smile, dropping back down to his feet, silent, like a cat. “Answering questions that reside in the shallows rarely brings rest, Teldryn. Swift are the tides of inquisition, and oh how she rises.”

“I should have expected as much,” Teldryn grumbled, crossing his arms and leaning back against the statue again. “Nothing but riddles.” 

“Riddles!” Vivec exclaimed, taking two long steps towards Teldryn. “You wish me to speak plainly.” Teldryn gasped as Vivec reached out and slid  long, cool fingers across his exposed collarbone, circling around to cup the back of his neck.

“Teldryn Sero of Blacklight. So far from home,” he all but purred, bending Teldryn back, bringing his  face close. Vivec was so tall, and he smelled of incense and spice. Teldryn’s eyes fluttered closed on their own accord.

“ _ Why you _ , you ask me.” Vivec chuckled, stroking a thumb across Teldryn’s cheek. “Every hero fights the call. It is to be expected.” 

“I’m not the hero of this story,” Teldryn insisted, slightly breathless from the angle of his head. The admission made him feel odd, a weird pulling in his gut that he’d never felt before.

 

Vivec gripped the sides of his head, almost too tightly, and Teldryn opened his eyes. It felt as though Vivec were trying to push inside him with his gaze, sinking into Teldryn’s psyche, peering around, searching. He grabbed onto Vivec’s shoulders, sucking in a breath, his own terror, savage and raw, crawling beneath his skin. 

 

“You’re so very  _ close _ , Teldryn,” Vivec whispered, leaning in. “And I want to be there when it happens.” His lips were fire and water - they tore Teldryn apart, flaying his mind open and leaving him bare. He felt too large for his body, but also incredibly small. Microscopic. He closed his eyes and saw endless stars stretched before him, his  universe bending and flexing, spinning faster and faster. The line of stars was soon a blur of motion - an unbroken circle. A wheel. When Vivec let go Teldryn fell forward, and for a split second he thought he might fall forever. 

 

The cold ground jolted him back to his senses as reality rushed in, leaving him utterly disoriented. He blinked several times, squinting against the harsh light. It was daytime. Morning, at least. Whiterun’s citizens were beginning to emerge from their houses, guards patrolling slowly around the Gildergreen. One stopped to look at him. 

“Trouble?” he asked. 

Teldryn stood up, brushing off his knees. “No, no, nothing at all.” He sighed, cracking his neck, feeling like whatever brief moment of clarity he was about to have was lost forever. “Just another day in the life.”

 

He was exhausted, and he vaguely wondered if he had just been standing there babbling to himself all night. The last thing he needed in this town was to gain the reputation of a wretched mystic. He began to make his way back to his house, his knees scraped from when he’d fallen forward. 

“Teldryn!” someone called from across the way. It was Nilandur, trotting over to him as gracefully as a doe. “We... “ he paused, taking in Teldryn’s appearance. “Are you alright?” 

“Couldn’t sleep last night,” Teldryn answered with a scowl. “What is it?” 

“Oh, ah,” Nilandur tucked a loose bit of hair behind his ear. “We heard back from Elisif. Finally. She’s agreed to the moot. Everyone will be convening in Whiterun in a week’s time.” Nilandur beamed .It was too damn early in the morning for anyone to look that satisfied with themselves. Teldryn sneered at him.

“Wonderful. Is your precious Jarl ready?” 

“I…” Nil sputtered, face flushing. “He’s not my…” He gave Teldryn a stern look. “Yes, he’s ready. And I believe you should go try to get some sleep.” 

“Excellent advice.”    

 

Teldryn made his way lethargically back down through the market, ignoring the strange looks from Whiterun’s citizens for being only half dressed. He pushed into Breezehome and shut the door, pressing his forehead against the cool wood for a long moment. 

“There you are,” came Aerik’s voice from the stairs, rough with sleep. “I was worried.”

“I’m sorry, love,” Teldryn sighed, turning around and falling against the door. Aerik furrowed his brow as he approached.

“Something’s happened.” It was a statement, not a question, and Teldryn could only nod. 

“Yes, something’s happened,” he agreed wearily. “And I will tell you everything. But I technically haven’t slept all night, and…” He exhaled, long and slow, looking down at his hands to see them shaking. Aerik was next to him in a few short strides, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him in tight. Teldryn fell into the embrace, letting his head rest heavy against Aerik’s shoulder, his mind so over-worked at this point that his thoughts were oddly blank. 

 

“Elisif agreed to the moot,” he murmured after a long moment. 

Aerik kissed his neck. “I don’t care.” He pulled away just enough to look at Teldryn, his expression still anxious. Teldryn  kissed him, slow and careful, hoping it would be enough for the moment, and let Aerik lead him back upstairs. It felt like he was living his life in an odd loop - repeating the same patterns over and over. He lay back against the pillows with a groan as Aerik pulled the covers up around him, kissing him one final time and running his fingers through Teldryn’s hair. 

“I’ll be downstairs when you wake up.”

 

_ Wake up _ .

 

Teldryn shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut, but nodded. He turned onto his side and let sleep pull him under, praying for dreamless rest.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could honestly just write poetic descriptions of Vivec all day long...
> 
> There might be a slightly longer gap between updates (two weeks tops, but hopefully less) as I really try to smooth out the next chapter - I'm dipping out of my comfort zone and trying desperately not to overthink.  
> Things take a turn for the ~political~ next chapter, so brace yourselves good readers! 
> 
> Aerik: _*groans*_  
>  Nilandur: _*claps excitedly*_


	18. The Moot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhh.... buckle up, guys. ༎ຶ ‿ ༎ຶ
> 
> **CW: Sexual Content, Violence, Minor Character Death.**
> 
> Thank you [paunchy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy) and [FourCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCatProductions/pseuds/FourCatProductions) for keeping me sane while writing this.

The following week passed in a whirlwind, with Nilandur fretting and obsessing over anything he possibly could. Teldryn received no further lessons, though that didn’t stop him from practicing the small amount Nil had taught him already. He’d chosen a less destructive spell to focus on and managed to get a small mage light to appear for a few seconds before blinking out, much to Aerik’s amusement and delight. He tried to teach Aerik everything he’d learned, including his own understanding of the Weave and how he felt and interacted with it. 

  


And of course, the fucking Dragonborn got it right on the first try. 

  


“Whoa!” Aerik exclaimed as the small mage light blinked into existence in front of them, hovering at eye-level. They sat across from each other on their bed and had been discussing magical theory for the past half hour. He grinned like mad at his success, looking immediately to Teldryn for approval. His expression dropped at the sour look he received instead. 

“I… I mean…” 

“No, no, it’s quite alright,” Teldryn remarked with a wave of his hand, his skin feeling prickly with indignation. “You’re the fulfillment of a godsdamned prophecy after all.” 

“Maybe it’s just…”

_ “Don’t…” _ Teldryn was feeling a bit angrier than he wanted to be. He took a breath. “Don’t try to make any excuses. You’re a prodigy. I should have expected as much.” He rubbed his temples in exasperation and Aerik drummed his fingers against his knee. 

  


“Any more word from Vivec?” he asked, changing the subject. The mage light blinked away, popping like a bubble. 

“Blessedly silent,” Teldryn sighed, leaning back against his hands. “Though I haven’t stopped trying to figure out what he meant by it all.” 

“Did you write it all down, like I said?” 

“I can remember things without writing them down.” 

“Well,” Aerik huffed, drawing his knees to his chest. “Good for  you.” Teldryn couldn’t help but smile at him, leaning forward to run a hand along Aerik’s bare arm.

“Do you have any insight, my love?” 

  


Aerik shrugged, chin still tucked against his knees, looking a bit petulant and boyish. His gaze shifted to the windows, a distant look in his eye. 

“He said you were close to something, but didn’t clarify what he meant by that,” Aerik rehashed, unfurling his legs and leaning back against the headboard. “And then he kissed you.”

Teldryn nodded, suppressing a shiver. “Correct.”

“Still jealous,” Aerik smirked. He tucked his hands behind his head, looking thoughtful. “And then you said it turned to daytime almost immediately.”

“Yes, Aerik. We’ve been over this many times.” 

“Well, what happened when he kissed you? And I don’t mean like… ‘did you get hard?’ because I know you did.” He leered and Teldryn gave him a disapproving look. 

“I saw stars.”

“That good, huh?”

“No, love, I literally saw stars. It was as if I was looking at Nirn from very,  _ very _ far away.” 

Aerik sat up a little straighter, eyes glimmering. “I think he might have been trying to show you something then.” And why hadn’t Teldryn thought of that yet? Had he really been so thrown by the kiss itself that he missed the obvious? 

“It was a lovely view,” he deflected, but Aerik was already shaking his head. 

“Come on, Tel. What else was there?”    

  


Teldryn felt a little dizzy when he tried to recall, and maybe that was a hint. He closed his eyes, trying to relive the moment. He felt Vivec’s cool fingers slide across his neck, press into his head, the ecstasy of pain and fear and the electric shock of his lips rippling along his nerves. The universe stretched before him, spinning wildly. He sucked in a breath a little too quickly, his eyes fluttering open. Aerik was looking at him intensely, pupils dilated. 

“I want to kiss a god…” he murmured under his breath, shifting onto his knees and crawling across the bed to climb in Teldryn’s lap, straddling his hips and tipping Teldryn’s head back. He groaned as Aerik’s teeth scraped the side of his jaw, his hands rough and dry and insistent as they ran along Teldryn’s sides.

“You’re so easily distracted,” Teldryn commented a bit breathlessly, kneading Aerik’s ass despite himself.

“Maybe I’m helping,” Aerik rumbled, threading his fingers through Teldryn’s hair and nipping at his earlobe. “This seems like one of the ways Vivec likes to communicate. Maybe I’m just jogging your memory.” He ground his hips into Teldryn’s stomach, already rock hard through the thin fabric of his pants. 

  


He couldn’t help himself, not when Aerik was like this - eager and willing, practically squirming in his lap. So he took him - hard and fast, not even undressing them fully. Aerik was face down on the mattress, slamming his ass back into Teldryn, his shirt riding up his back, panting and groaning, completely strung-out. Teldryn had one hand on Aerik’s hips, the other tangled in his golden hair - it was getting longer these days, and Teldryn loved it. He could feel himself sweating through his shirt, and he felt too restricted fucking through his pants, but it was hot and dirty and everything he needed at the moment. When he came he saw stars, the universe careening across the backs of his eyelids as he exhaled loudly, grinding out a moan from between clenched teeth. Still breathing heavily, he pulled out, ignoring the mess, and flipped Aerik onto his back with his last reserve of strength. Aerik was laughing, flushed and utterly gorgeous, as Teldryn slid down the bed and took him into his mouth. Aerik shouted raggedly. He wasted no time, keeping his pace from earlier. He swallowed all of Aerik’s spend when he came feeling filthy and satisfied - the bitter taste clung to the roof of his mouth, sharp tang and earthy musk, and when Teldryn kissed him, Aerik growled into his mouth like a hungry wolf. 

  


As soon as they caught their breath it was like whatever spell had overcome them broke. Aerik was looking mostly pleased, but also a little shocked. He pulled his shirt off before tugging Teldryn’s up and over his head, pushing him gently back onto the bed and laying down against his chest, sweat-damp and still breathless. 

“Sorry,” he said after a long moment. “Don’t know what came over me.” 

“I think you were right,” Teldryn mumbled, running the tips of his fingers down Aerik’s spine, eliciting a shiver. “I think that  _ is _ how he likes to communicate. And I certainly saw stars.”

Aerik lifted his head to grin at him. “Glad I have the same effect, then.” He kissed Teldryn’s chest before laying back down against him. “And what were the stars doing?” Teldryn didn’t answer immediately as he tried to bring the image into the front of his mind. 

  


“Spinning.” He sighed through his nose. “Like the spokes of a wheel.” 

  


///

  


The impending arrival of the Jarls had Whiterun in a flurry of pomp and circumstance. Market stalls were being repainted, tattered banners replaced, the streets swept… it was all quite amusing, in Teldryn’s opinion. The various citizens scampered about like headless chickens, polishing knobs and honestly blowing everything out of proportion. Teldryn finished purchasing some fresh vegetables and a few choice cuts of meat for dinner before heading back to the house, very nearly running head first into Nilandur on his way.

  


“Watch it!” he said automatically, and a little too harshly. Nilandur stumbled back a bit and Teldryn had to reach an arm out to steady him. The mer looked exhausted. 

“You look exhausted,” Teldryn decided to voice. 

“What? Oh, I’m fine.” Nilandur waved the comment away with a sideways smile. His hair was slightly disheveled and he was holding several scrolls that threatened to tip out of his hands. “I have to return these to Farengar, so if you’ll excuse me.”      

“Nilandur, please.” Teldryn shifted his purchases into the crook of his left arm, reaching out to grab Nilandur by the shoulder. “Will you come have lunch with us? We’ve barely seen you over the past week.” 

Nilandur blinked, his gaze darting to Teldryn’s hand before settling back on his face. “Ah, I’m terribly sorry about that. I’m just trying to make sure I’m as well-informed as I can possibly be on this entire… civil war matter. I don’t want to go into it seeming like I’ve just immediately decided to become a Stormcloak soldier.” 

  


Teldryn couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at that before tipping his head back and laughing openly. 

“Nilandur, if there is one thing you most certainly _are_ _not_ , it is a Stormcloak soldier.” 

Nilandur blinked at him again for a moment before scrunching his face into a smile, shaking his head. “I suppose you’re right. But still…” 

“Come have lunch,” Teldryn insisted. “Farengar isn’t going anywhere, I can promise you that.” 

  


Aerik was thrilled to see Nilandur and immediately put on some tea. The Altmer allowed Teldryn to take the scrolls from his arms before immediately collapsing in front of the hearthfire. 

“I don’t think I’ve slept for more than four hours over the past three days,” he confessed, rubbing his temples. 

“Why are you so stressed over this?” Aerik asked, plopping down into the chair beside him after closing the lid to the pot. Teldryn set about putting away the vegetables he’d just purchased as well as beginning to cure the meats. 

“I’m honestly surprised you’re not even a tad worried,” Nilandur chuckled. “Or perhaps you simply hide it well?” 

“Well,” Aerik sighed, sinking down lower into the chair. “I suppose I’m nervous, but that’s mostly because I have no idea how I’m going to convince the Jarls of how bad the Thalmor threat really is. Balgruuf did  _ not _ go well. In fact, it went so  _ not well _ that I’ve tried not to think about it too hard ever since.” 

“Incredibly productive,” Teldryn interjected from the kitchen, and Aerik made a rude gesture over his shoulder.  

  


“Anyway,” Aerik continued. “I figure what happens, happens, and the focus of the moot should probably just be to try to end the war. Unfortunately that means pretty much exclusively rooting for Ulfric if we want to try to push the Thalmor out of Skyrim.”

“And that’s precisely why I’m so worried,” Nilandur explained with a loud sigh, leaning forward in his seat and dropping his head into his hands. “In all my research so far, I do truly feel like Skyrim needs to maintain its connection to the Empire, though Ulfric could theoretically still achieve some of his initial goals while keeping this alliance. The real problem, though, is how the Jarls view him. He’s a war criminal to most of them.” The water was beginning to boil and Aerik took the pot off the fire, setting it on the small side table to steep. He turned back around, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

“So you’re worried, what, they just won’t listen to him?”

Nilandur looked up, brow creased. “No, Aerik, I’m worried they’ll arrest and execute him.” 

“Oh…” Aerik cleared his throat, leaning back against the wall. “Yeah I guess that would be… not super good.” 

  


Nilandur sighed again, letting his head drop back into his hands. Aerik lifted the lid of the pot as he looked across the room to Teldryn, who offered a shrug in response. 

“So you, uh, really like Ulfric, huh?” Aerik began, and Teldryn made silent, averting hand gestures, but Nilandur was already looking up again.

“I consider him my friend now, yes,” Nilandur nodded. “And I would very much prefer if he remained alive for a bit longer.” 

“Does he,” Aerik paused and bit his lip, beginning to strain the tea. “Does he consider you to be  _ his _ friend?” 

Nilandur laughed airily. “Begrudgingly, I believe.” He took the mug that was offered him with a quiet thanks. “He is still very wary of Altmer, but I can’t say I blame him. I’m honestly quite wary of my own people right now as well.” He blew across the surface of his tea, steam spiraling upwards. “I know they’re looking for me… I feel trapped behind these city walls. Ulfric strongly recommends against me going anywhere alone or without guards, though I believe he has a difficult time understanding that I’m quite capable of protecting myself. The Thalmor captured me the first time because I didn’t know any better. They caught me by surprise.” He took a sip of his tea. “I know better now.” 

  


Aerik and Teldryn exchanged glances, but let the subject drop. Aerik didn’t ask any more intrusive, if not slightly dangerous questions, and instead helped Teldryn prepare lunch. The conversation skewed in a much lighter direction, and it was a pleasure to have Nilandur around again, if only for a few brief hours. After lunch he wrapped Aerik up in a warm hug and gave Teldryn an affectionate shoulder squeeze, thanking them for everything, before grabbing the scrolls and making his way up to Dragonsreach.

“He seems marginally less tired now, at least,” Teldryn said after their front door closed.

“I’m worried about him, Tel.” Aerik circled around the fire pit and back towards the kitchen, gathering their bowls from lunch. “I think he’s more burdened than he’s letting on.” 

“Of course he is,” Teldryn scoffed, following Aerik. “But much of it seems to be by choice. He’s a… oh, how do I say this.” He stroked his jaw thoughtfully. “He seems to be the type of person that is restless when there isn’t something for him to fix.” 

“He’s a fixer,” Aerik supplied with a grin. 

“Yes, he’s a fixer.” 

“Well, I hope he doesn’t try to  _ fix  _ Ulfric.” 

“He’s very clearly already trying, my love. If not Ulfric, he’s trying to fix the damn civil war.”

  


Aerik let out a frustrated noise as he swished a bit of water through one of the bowls, wiping it down and handing it to Teldryn to be put away. 

“The moot is in three days. If it goes well, which,” Aerik shook his head, “I’m honestly not expecting it to… then we can pick back up with our investigation of the Thalmor.” 

“Refreshed,” Teldryn agreed, putting the last bowl away. 

Aerik smiled. “And possibly with some new allies.” He turned and wrapped an arm around Teldryn’s waist as he leaned back against the table, pulling him over until their hips were flush and their foreheads pressed together. Teldryn took a deep, calming breath, running his hands along Aerik’s shoulders and carding his fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck. He closed his eyes, leaning into the comfortable silence between them.

“Sometimes I wish…” Aerik began before fading off. 

Teldryn ran a thumb across Aerik’s cheek. “What do you wish, love?” Aerik reached up to take his hand, placing a kiss along the inside of Teldryn’s wrist, looking at him with adoring, bright golden eyes. 

“Sometimes I wish we could just be normal.” His lips brushed against Teldryn’s skin as he spoke and he placed another kiss in the center of his palm, so gentle that it made Teldryn’s chest ache. “Just make lunch, wash dishes, chop wood…” Aerik slid his hands along Teldryn’s arm.

“You want to retire already?” Teldryn chuckled, leaning in to press a kiss against Aerik’s jaw, his neck, his collarbone. Aerik didn’t answer, but sighed into the kisses. 

“I know…” he said after a minute. 

  


“There’s just too much left to do.”        

  


///         

  


Teldryn stood next to Aerik at the foot of the wooden bridge, staring at the doors of Dragonsreach with growing dread. The sun sat high in the sky above them, shortening their shadows, and all the Jarls of Skyrim currently sat just behind those two large doors. His husband let out a long sigh; neither of them moved to take a step forward. 

“It feels like the peace council all over again,” Aerik said. “But somehow worse.” 

“Luckily you won’t have to be doing the negotiating.”

“I’d honestly  _ rather _ be doing negotiating. But none of the Jarls are going to take this Thalmor thing seriously. So most likely I’m just going to have to sit there and act as some sort of… glorified tie-breaker again.” 

  


Teldryn couldn’t disagree with that. He rolled his neck, producing a few cracks, and straightened his shoulders before extending an elbow to Aerik like a proper Breton. 

“Shall we, then?” 

Aerik grinned, looping his arm through Teldryn’s. “Most certainly,” he agreed with a pretentious accent. “Mustn't keep the Jarls waiting now, should we, my sweet?”

Teldryn played along, flashing a sharp smile, if only to make Aerik feel better.       

“T’would be an utter tragedy to stall them further, my beloved.” 

  


Neither of them moved. 

  


“Fuck…” Aerik said, expression dropping. “Alright, let’s just… do this.” They strode forward, still arm-in-arm. Aerik placed a hand on one of the massive doors, paused, then leaned over to give Teldryn a firm kiss. He kissed back as much as he could, bringing his free hand up cup Aerik’s neck, before they both pulled away, dropping arms and pushing into Dragonsreach. 

  


The noise level was louder than Teldryn had ever heard it in the long hall. Jarls were already shouting across the hearthfire at one another, though thankfully the tables had been bridged since their awkward dinner party with a third, forming a ‘U’ shape around the center fire pit. The conversation only died down marginally as Aerik and Teldryn approached, stepping in tandem up the shallow steps. Balgruuf sat in the center of the middle table, already looking as though he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Ulfric, who sat to Balgruuf’s left, remained almost completely expressionless, the Jagged Crown perched ostentatiously atop his head. He stared down at his hands as Nilandur spoke into his ear, his chair pulled close. Galmar stood just behind Ulfric with a murderous look on his face as his eyes scanned the room. Teldryn recognized the Jarl of Riften, Laila Law-Giver, as well as Elisif, but the other Nordic faces all seemed to blur together. 

  


“Dragonborn!” One of the Jarls at the end of the table to their right called out - a greasy-looking young Nord with dark hair, accompanied by a stern-looking Altmer hovering just behind him. “I take it you’re here to make sure nobody gets Shouted to death?” He looked pointedly to Ulfric. 

“Actually, Jarl Siddgeir, I’m here to help with…”

“I thought Whiterun was supposed to be wealthier than this,” Siddgeir interrupted, his voice loud enough to carry over to Balgruuf. He picked up a roasted rabbits leg from one of the plates in front of him. “Yet they’re putting out table scraps for the Jarls.” 

“Well, we’re not here to have a banquet,” Aerik ground out through a forced smile before striding away. 

  


Elisif sat to Balgruuf’s right, her eyes unfocused and glassy. She stared dead ahead, her knuckles white as she clasped her hands together tightly on the table in front of her. Teldryn imagined it must be difficult sitting merely a seat away from the man that murdered your husband. He admired her restraint. Two seats were left open for them next to Nilandur, putting Aerik and Teldryn on the left edge of the ‘U’. Nilandur offered a nervous smile as they sat, patting Aerik’s arm with trembling hands. 

“Don’t worry, Nil,” Aerik said with a sideways smile. “Everything is going to be fine.” 

“That’s very kind of you, Aerik,” Nilandur said, almost too quietly to be heard over the shouts of the Jarls.

  


Balgruuf stood and the noise died down immediately. Teldryn huffed in amusement, leaning back in his chair. The Jarl of Whiterun would probably make an excellent High King, were he given the opportunity, though something told Teldryn he’d turn down the offer.

“Today we gather in moot to decide upon the new ruler of Skyrim.” His voice was loud, commanding. “We have been war-torn for too long. The time has come to put aside our biases, to make compromises, and to do what is best for our country. Skyrim deserves better than what we have given her over the last six years.” 

  


“What Skyrim  _ deserves _ is her freedom back!” An angry, bald Nord yelled, slamming his fist on the table. “What Skyrim  _ deserves _ is and end to the slaughter and torture of her people at the hands of elves!”

Aerik leaned towards Teldryn. “That’s Skald, Jarl of Dawnstar. I don’t think you ever got to meet him,” he explained in a whisper. “Kind of an overzealous Ulfric supporter.” 

“And you would rather risk another war with the Dominion than simply keep your prayers to Talos in the quiet of your own home?” It was the Jarl of Markarth who spoke - Teldryn recognized him. “Risk the slaughter of thousands as opposed to the errant reprimand of disobeying the Concordat?”

“You have some nerve, Igmund, to invoke the name of Talos after you so readily cowered to the elves and betrayed your own people,” Skald fumed, his weathered face turning red.

  


“Please,” Balgruuf interjected loudly. “Calm yourself, Jarl Skald.”

Skald beat his fist against the table again. “Skyrim will not bow to a false king any longer. Look before you!” He gestured to Ulfric. “Here our true king sits - look at his crown! He holds to Nordic traditions while all of you willfully forget!”

“Jarl Skald.” Ulfric spoke low and even, though easily heard. “Maintain your honor.” Skald looked a little shocked, but sat back in his chair. 

“We are here to agree upon the new high ruler of Skyrim,” Ulfric continued. “Not to squabble amongst ourselves.”

“Bold of you to reprimand someone for squabbling when that’s all you’ve done for the past six years,” Siddgeir scoffed. “You threw a fit after Markarth when you didn’t get your way and we Jarls have had to deal with all the mess of that. Do you know how long it takes me to get the taxes in my hold? Because of all the damn soldiers prowling about?”

“Ungrateful little brat!” Skald bellowed from across the way. With that, the room seemed to break out into simultaneous argument once again. Ulfric was glaring daggers at Siddgeir who simply returned his gaze with a smug smile. Aerik groaned and put his head in his hands, rubbing his temples before slamming his hands against the table and pushing forcefully to his feet. 

  


“ENOUGH.” 

  


A crackle rippled through the air, like a distant thunder strike - hints of Aerik’s Thu’um resonating off the walls of the room. The room went dead silent, the pop and crackle of the center hearthfire suddenly loud in the ensuing silence. 

“Skyrim is  _ weak _ ,” Aerik all but spat. “We are all  _ weak _ because we are divided. You’ve each sequestered yourselves into unshakable factions to the point where I’m not sure a single one of you remembers what you stand for.” Teldryn saw many of the Jarls shuffle uncomfortably, averting their eyes.    
“The Empire is not the enemy,” Aerik continued. “The Stormcloaks are  _ not _ the enemy. Do you even see that? Do you even realize how easily we’ve all been played? Can you not see who the true enemy is?” He paused, stalling, wrapping his knuckles against the table as he bit his lower lip. “The true enemy…” He looked to Balgruuf, who simply gave a firm shake of his head. Aerik sighed, closing his eyes. “The true enemy…”

“The true enemy is the Thalmor,” Ulfric said before Aerik could continue. A soft murmur rippled through the room, and Aerik looked to Ulfric with relief. Balgruuf just sighed.

  


Ulfric stood, looking every bit the figure of a king. He nodded to Aerik, who sat down almost immediately. 

“The Thalmor desire both a weak Skyrim and a weakened Empire,” Ulfric began, and the room remained quiet. “I… was foolish for not recognizing this sooner.” Teldryn huffed under his breath.  _ Humility _ . He had to admit that it looked good on Ulfric, though Teldryn knew it was probably just a ploy. His eyes flickered to Nilandur, who was looking at Ulfric with something akin to pride. He certainly felt some of the old Altmer’s sentiments echoed in Ulfric’s words and wondered if Nilandur had helped prepare this little speech of his. 

“So you admit, then, that it was foolish of you to murder the High King and plunge our country into civil war?” Siddgeir asked with a sneer. 

  


“He did not murder Torygg.” 

  


It was Elisif who spoke, her voice soft, but as clear as a bell. Teldryn’s eyebrows shot up as he met Aerik’s gaze, his husband looking just as shocked as the room filled with low whispers. Ulfric also looked mildly surprised, watching Elisif with a calculating gaze as she got to her feet. She was so youthful in comparison to the weather-worn faces of the other Jarls. Teldryn’s heart went out to her and all that she’d lost. 

“Jarl Ulfric challenged my late husband, and Torygg accepted, knowing full well that it might mean his death. It has taken me years to come to this understanding and for my initial outrage to subside, but it was well within our traditions, even with the use of his… his  _ shout _ .” She took a deep breath, straightening further. “But Torygg accepted the challenge because he was willing to die for what he believed in. Skyrim  _ needs _ the Empire. All the while, Jarl Ulfric,” she looked to him, her brow creasing as anger flashed across her young face, “seemed to think that he could bring about peace through war. A foolish endeavor, indeed.” 

  


The two of them held each other’s gaze for a long, quiet moment, and Teldryn felt as though the room were holding its collective breath. 

“We cannot allow Skyrim to be governed by the Empire while the Thalmor act as their puppet master,” Ulfric insisted. “They care only for domination and an end to the races of men.” 

“An end to the races of men?” Siddgeir scoffed lowly, looking over his shoulder at his Altmeri steward before sinking down further into his chair. “That’s a bit dramatic.” 

“Jarl Ulfric, you find yourself in a room of begrudging allies in this respect,” Balgruuf added. “The Thalmor are a blight upon Skyrim, but we have neither the strength nor the resources to move against them.”

“Then let us find the strength! Let us foster the resources!” Ulfric insisted with a bit more gusto than he’d shown thus far. “We are not a helpless nation. Let us-” 

  


The main doors of Dragonsreach slammed open, the sound of marching boots echoing off the arched, wooden ceiling.  All heads swiveled in the direction of the noise as a small murmur of discontent rumbled through the room. Teldryn felt his stomach drop as the three Thalmor agents came into view as they strode swiftly up the stairs. 

“Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm,” the middle agent spoke, coming to a halt in front of the end of the hearth and crossing her hands behind her back. “By order of the Aldmeri Dominion, you are hereby under arrest for war crimes against the Dominion, the illegal worship of the false god, Talos, as well as for housing a known fugitive within your city.” 

“What’s the meaning of this?” Balgruuf asked angrily, rising to his feet. “This moot is currently held under the order of a ceasefire! How dare you interrupt…”    

“Forgive me, but the Thalmor do not operate under your,” she sneered, “ _ primitive customs _ . This is a matter of the Dominion.” Her golden eyes slid down the table. 

  


“Nilandur of Cloudrest,” she smiled - a cold, unsettling expression. “I’m afraid your time on the run has come to an end.” All eyes turned to the Altmer, but it was Aerik who got to his feet.

“He’s not going anywhere.” His fists clenched by his side, thrumming with the faintest crackle of electricity. 

The Thalmor just laughed. The two other agents at her side raised their hands, lightning beginning to dance between their fingers. 

“Do you have any idea what he is? What he’s capable of?” She asked, her expression that of a concerned adult speaking to a small child. “Oh, but wait, I think I know…” She shifted her stance, rubbing a gloved finger across her chin. “You’re the half-breed Dragonborn, aren’t you?”

  


Aerik’s face paled while several of the Jarls snapped their gazes to him in surprise. 

Electricity crackled in earnest around Aerik’s fists. “You slimy little bastards…”

“Wait.” Ulfric spoke, his voice carrying easily across the large room. “If I agree to come quietly, will you allow the moot to continue peacefully? Will you at least honor our customs as Nords and allow us this?”

Nilandur leapt to his feet, grabbing Ulfric firmly by his elbow. “Ulfric, no, you don’t understand…”

“I understand perfectly well, elf,” he growled, pulling free of Nilandur’s grip, and turning back to the Thalmor agents. “Will you also spare the monk?” There was a long pause.

“Spare the…?” The agent laughed, shrill and mirthless. “You think you have that kind of leverage? I knew you had an inflated ego, but by the Eight, you are  _ dense _ , aren’t you?” The other Jarls were beginning to squirm in their seats, their faces darkening with anger and fear.

  


“As for your little…  _ moot _ ,” she sneered with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I think you can consider it concluded.” 

“How dare you!” Skald sprung to his feet. “I will not sit idly by while elves rip even more of our culture and tradition from our hands!” He drew his sword, and the Jarls around him gasped, others also rising to their feet. 

“Skald, be sensible!” Laila Law-Giver attempted to reason from where she sat to his left. Skald didn’t budge. 

“Is that a threat?” the Thalmor agent asked, sounding almost bored. She looked over her shoulder dispassionately at one of her accomplices, jerking her head in Skald’s direction. Without hesitation, the agent to her left released an immense bolt of chain lightning, knocking Skald backwards over his chair, his sword clattering to the ground. 

  


The room seemed to erupt in a flurry of shouting and movement with the sound of swords being drawn and armor spells being cast. Teldryn leapt to his feet, unsheathing his sword and pulling fire into his left hand. 

“This isn’t how I imagined this going,” he mumbled under his breath. Aerik was already leaping over the table, sprinting towards the three agents. 

  


“FUS… RO DAH!” 

  


The head agent ducked and rolled out of the way of the shout while the other two were flung backwards down the steps with startled cries of pain. The sound of a thundercrack ripped through the hall and Ulfric was instantly at Aerik’s side, his own sword drawn. The head agent rolled to her feet, conjuring a bound sword into one hand, the other crackling with electricity. She fired a spell immediately at Aerik, which he dodged, tucking and rolling to the side, landing somewhere near Siddgeir.

  


Teldryn leapt to stand atop the table, watching the majority of the Jarls prepare for a fight. 

“Nilandur,” he spoke sharply over the clamor of noise. “We need to get the Jarls out of here. They’re only going to get themselves killed.” 

Nilandur nodded to him, opening his mouth to speak when a pained roar ripped through the great hall. At the top of the stairs, the Thalmor agent smiled wildly, her spectral sword skewering Ulfric through his left shoulder. Teldryn thought he heard Nilandur yell something, but the noise of the room seemed to die down to a low hum, the blood pounding loudly in his ears. The agent walked Ulfric backwards, shoving him off her sword, and he began to fall... directly into the hearthfire. Teldryn dropped his sword, and reaching out into the Weave with as much strength as he could muster, he pulled every bit of fire out of the pit, away from Ulfric just as his back hit the coals.

  


He locked eyes with the agent only for a split second, before Aerik knocked her off her feet. The other two Thalmor had already taken out three Whiterun guards and were charging Jarl Igmund, who let out a loud Nordic battle cry. Teldryn sheathed his sword summoned a spectral bow, aiming at the agent to the left, sinking an arrow into his shoulder, staggering him. Ulfric rolled off the cooled coals, grasping his wound with a grimace, scrambling to grab his fallen sword. The head agent was smiling maniacally up at Aerik, her hands up in surrender. She said something Teldryn couldn’t hear, before looking to the center of the ceiling, her smile widening. 

  


A massive crack of lightning shot forth from her hand, connecting with the center beam. The wood splintered as it split in half, electricity crackling through the loft, dancing between the thick ropes that held the massive, metal chandeliers aloft. One by one, they frayed and snapped. 

“Teldryn!” Nilandur yelped, and Teldryn felt two hands pull him backwards off the table as the massive beam came crashing down, the chandeliers following like a line of dominoes. Teldryn and Nilandur landed in a heap off to the side. The screams of the Jarls were nearly drowned out by the chandeliers hitting the floor as they shattered the planks. 

  


Nilandur leapt to his feet, grabbing onto Teldryn’s forearm and hauling him up with a surprising amount of strength. The Altmer looked angrier than Teldryn had ever seen him and a faint haze of magicka was beginning to swirl around his arms. The great hall was in ruins - the floor a jagged mess of splintered wood, tables shattered by the fallen beam and chandeliers. all while most of the Jarls and their stewards huddled beneath the balconies. 

  


Nilandur moved his arms as if he were physically gathering his magicka, weaving his hands through the air in swirling, arcs, pulling and pushing. Light thrummed around his body, radiating outwards, illuminating him from the inside out. He stepped lightly around the chaos, moving in the direction of the Thalmor. White cords of light began to manifest around his forearms, uncoiling and spiraling into the air, thrashing like angry snakes. He whipped  his arms out and forward and the cords shot in the direction of the three agents, encircling them faster than Teldryn could process, binding their arms and legs together, leaving them paralyzed on the ground. 

  


Aerik stumbled away from the head agent where she now lay bound and motionless, a large gash on his head and matted blood gathering in his hair. Teldryn shifted his weight, ready to run to his husband when a hoarse, anguished scream stopped him dead in his tracks, his blood freezing.

  


It was Irileth. 

  


She pulled futilely at one of the massive chandeliers with frustrated cries. Beneath it lay the crumpled form of Jarl Balgruuf, unmoving. Teldryn’s breath hitched, and he only hesitated for a second before running to her side, vaulting over the mess of broken tables and fractured floor boards. He curled his fingers around the cold metal ring, heaving upwards with all his strength. The thing wouldn’t budge. 

“Anyone!” Irileth begged. This seemed to jolt the room from their shock. Galmar grabbed the opposite side of the chandelier, while Aerik and the Jarl of Winterhold jogged over. Ulfric joined, stepping up beside Teldryn and grabbing onto the chandelier with bloodied hands. 

“Don’t be an idiot, you’ve been injured!” Teldryn all but yelled, but the man ignored him. 

“We lift on three,” Ulfric said instead. “One... two... three…” Between the five of them, the dense metal ring moved and Irileth quickly pulled Balgruuf from beneath the wreckage. 

  


It was bad. It was very bad. Teldryn felt bile rising in the back of his throat and he heard Aerik curse, his husband’s voice tight and watery. Ulfric called for Nilandur, and the Altmer dashed over, practically skidding to his knees next to Balgruuf. Golden light burst forth from Nilandur’s hands, encircling the man, lines of energy diving frantically in and out of his body, almost as if it were searching. The room seemed to come to a complete standstill as the other Jarls gathered around. Teldryn saw Elisif out of the corner of his eye, tears streaming down her face as she clasped a hand over her mouth. 

  


The light around Nilandur’s hands faded and he sat back on his heels. He held a single hand out and placed his fingers against Balgruuf’s temple. After a moment, he pulled his hand back, bowing his head, shoulders slumping. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “He’s... he’s already gone.” 

  


The silence in the hall was heavy, almost suffocating. Elisif let out a hiccup of a noise that turned into a sob, and Laila’s arm was around her in an instant. Irileth looked frozen, her face a stone mask as she looked down at her former Jarl.

“Take those Thalmor agents,” she began after a long moment, “and lock them in a fucking cell.” The few guards who were standing around in shock leapt into action, running over to where the three agents still lay bound by Nilandur’s magicka. She looked up at Aerik, wine-red eyes burning with fury.

“I’m listening now, Dragonborn.”

  


Aerik said nothing, his jaw clenched tightly, mouth set into a thin line. He looked to Teldryn, then Nilandur, who still sat on the floor with a helpless expression. Teldryn saw Ulfric shift out of the corner of his eye, and without warning, the man dropped, falling heavily onto his knees before landing on his side, the Jagged Crown dislodging itself and rolling away. Nilandur let out a startled shout, skittering over, hands already glowing with golden light. 

“We need to get the injured to the temple of Kynareth!” Aerik commanded, beginning to take control of the room. The Jarls and their stewards that were uninjured were spurred into action, leading the injured out of the great hall. Skald was in a bad way, his breath coming out in labored wheezes, chestplate blackened from the lightning strike. Igmund seemed a bit bloodied and bruised, while an older looking woman, who Teldryn recalled to be the Jarl of Morthal, had a nasty electrical burn running up one of her arms. 

  


“Ulfric, I need you to stay awake.” Nilandur’s voice was quivering. He’d pillowed Ulfric’s head in his lap, golden light thrumming as it wove through the site of the injury. Ulfric blinked sluggishly and Teldryn finally noticed how much blood he’d lost. His entire left sleeve was deep red, soaked through, the fur around his cloak clumped and matted. The Thalmor’s sword must have slid directly between the upper plates of his armor and into his shoulder. It had an almost surgical precision to it that made Teldryn shudder.  

“Foolish…” Ulfric murmured, glassy-eyed. “...my fault.” Nilandur just shushed him, looking up at Teldryn, brow creased. 

“We can’t move him yet, but I need the aid of a least a couple of health potions,” he explained. “I’ve overextended myself - my connection to the Weave is weakening.”

“On it,” Teldryn said with a nod, turning towards the front of the hall. Aerik was currently directing a few of the Jarls as they made a makeshift stretcher for Skald. His head jerked up and they locked eyes.

“I’ll meet you at the temple of Kynareth,” Teldryn assured as he jogged over. He allowed Aerik to pull him in for a brief kiss, slightly breathless. Teldryn cupped Aerik’s face, channeling restoration healing into the gash on his head. 

“Thanks,” Aerik breathed, before quickly turning away to help carry the stretcher.

  


Teldryn sprinted down the stone steps that lead to the Gildergreen, the sound of rushing water muted, drowned out by the pulsing in his ears.. A crowd had gathered in the courtyard, frightened and concerned faces blurring together as he ran past. He took the steps to the market two at a time, skirting around several guards who were running in the opposite direction. Breathlessly, he jogged into their home, heading immediately for their alchemy station. He threw open the cabinet, shoving some of their better healing potions into a satchel, as well as a few that would help with magicka and stamina regeneration. He knocked back one of the sickly green potions, grimacing at the taste, but immediately felt a surge of energy pulse through his extremities, hands and feet prickling. The jog back up to Dragonsreach felt immense, and by the time he climbed the last of the steps, pushing back into the great hall, his thighs and lungs were burning and sweat trickled down the sides of his head. 

  


Seeing the calamity with fresh eyes was shocking, but Teldryn soldiered forward. Balgruuf’s body had been moved and Irileth was nowhere in sight, but a dark blood stain marred the floor where he’d lay. Nilandur was still attempting to heal Ulfric, his fingers turning ashen grey, blackening at the fingertips. 

“Nilandur,  _ stop, _ ” Teldryn’s command, sharp enough to jar Nilandur out of his trance-like state. He blinked up at Teldryn then looked down at his fingers, almost distantly, before looking back up. 

Teldryn handed him a healing draught. “Here. You’ll probably need one yourself, you blasted idiot.”   

“Thank you,” Nilandur whispered hoarsely, pressing the lip of the bottle to Ulfric’s lips. 

  


Teldryn noticed then that Elisif and Laila Law-Giver were still hovering nearby, watching with undisguised concern. 

“Are both of you alright?” He asked after finally catching his breath. 

Laila nodded, still looking at Ulfric. “We’re fine, yes. Shaken. But fine.” 

“Is he going to live?” Elisif asked, her voice small and quiet. Teldryn might have expected smugness from the young Jarl, even self-righteousness, when faced with Ulfric’s death at the hands of the Thalmor, but she just looked frightened.

“He’s going to be fine,” Teldryn assured without actually knowing if it were the truth. 

“Why…” Her gaze flickered between Ulfric, Nilandur, and Teldryn. “Why would they do that? Why would they attack like that?” 

“Because they clearly have no respect for any of us,” Laila answered, anger taking the place of shock and fear. “The Thalmor have no honor.” 

  


Color was returning to Ulfric’s face and Nilandur helped him sit up, though the old Altmer was looking a bit sickly. 

“Nilandur, drink a damn health draught,” Teldryn scolded. Nilandur at least looked chastised, uncorking a bottle and tipping it back.

“Have the injured been attended to?” Ulfric asked, returning to his usual self. 

Teldryn nodded. “Aerik made sure they were taken to the Temple of Kynareth.” Ulfric moved to stand, hissing in pain and grabbing onto his injured shoulder. 

“Please, keep that arm as still as you can,” Nilandur said. 

“Here…” Teldryn unwound his scarf from around his neck, resting on one knee next to Ulfric. “Press your arm against your chest. That’s it.” Teldryn fashioned a makeshift sling, binding Ulfric’s arm into place and securing his shoulder. All the while, the Nord was looking at him with an unreadable expression - something between disbelief and gratefulness. 

  


“Up you go,” Teldryn grunted as he and Nilandur worked to pull Ulfric to his feet. The man was unsteady, but bull-headed enough to shake them off when they tried to help him walk. 

“I need to see those who have been injured,” he rumbled, taking a stiff step forward. Elisif moved quickly to his side.

“I as well.” She looked back to Laila. “Come,” she said, so simply, yet with enough authority that Laila jolted forward, jogging over to walk with them. 

  


Teldryn watched them go for a moment before turning to Nilandur with a stern look. 

“Give me your hands.”

“Teldryn…”

_ “Give me your hands,” _ he repeated, aggravated. Nilandur sighed, holding up his long, slender hands for Teldryn to take between his own. The golden light of restoration pulsed between them, bright and beautiful, almost inappropriate amongst the destruction and chaos. 

“You should know better than that,” Teldryn grumbled. “In fact, I  _ know  _ that you know better than that.” Nilandur didn’t meet his eyes, looking somewhere off to the left, brow creased. Once Teldryn had gotten Nilandur’s fingers back to their normal color, the two of them walked silently out of Dragonsreach, exhausted and frightened. 

  


Teldryn prayed silently, but desperately, to Azura for guidance and strength as they descended the steps of Dragonsreach for the final time. As an afterthought, he asked Vivec to watch over them as well. He didn’t even flinch when he heard the soft jingle of bangles sliding against one another in the distance. If anything, he felt comforted. 

  
  



	19. Season Unending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ༼ಢ_ಢ༽ _*points to relationship tags*_

Skald passed away later that night, his heart too weak to withstand the shock. His body was washed and wrapped, prepared to be sent back to Dawnstar where he could have a proper funeral among his citizens.

 

The following day began with a procession. 

 

The sun had barely risen, the city still cast in the long shadows of early morning as an unseasonable chill seemed to hang in the air. The citizens of Whiterun pressed tightly together to form a path from Dragonsreach to Jorrvaskr, stiff and solemn, leaning into each other. The doors of the great hall opened and the body of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater was brought forth, shrouded in intricately woven blankets and hoisted atop the shoulders of his personal guard as they carried him through the city. A stone-faced Irileth trailed after them, followed by Balgruuf’s children, sniffling and rubbing at their eyes as they were gently herded by their caretaker. The rest of his court fell into procession behind them.  

 

They climbed the steps towards the oldest building in Whiterun, circling towards the Skyforge. The Companions stood in a line outside, their heads bowed, murmuring words of respect, prayers, blessings. Everyone slowly filed in after the procession passed, joining in the wake, trailing up towards Jorrvaskr. All of Whiterun was at a standstill, every single citizen in attendance. The air was thick with grief and shock - hardly anyone made a sound. 

 

Teldryn was at Aerik’s side as the procession reached the forge. They stood like soldiers, not husbands, yet still allowed their shoulders to touch. Small comforts. Aerik’s brow was deeply creased, his eyes red and glistening wetly. Teldryn had always quietly envied how easily Aerik was able to express emotion, while he himself hadn’t cried in decades - he imagined there was a great relief to it. He looked on, expressionless, as the pallbearers ascended the final steps.  

 

Balgruuf’s body was laid atop the forge and decorated with dried mountain flowers, sweet grasses, and totems as the people looked on. His soul was in Sovngarde, everyone knew this, and his body was now being returned to ash, reverting into the firmament from which all life comes. As the fires were lit, the singing began, led by the Companions - a slow, warbling dirge. It was sorrowful, but it was not the sound of a people defeated. The ancient words spoke of courage and valor, of victory even beyond death. Slowly, almost one by one, the entirety of the city joined in, Nords and non-Nords alike. Their voices spiraled into the pale morning sky as the people mourned as one.          

 

-

 

Anger and panic and ripped through Skyrim like the slash of a dragon’s talon as news of the attack spread from hold to hold. Teldryn, Aerik, and Nilandur spent the following days filtering in and out of the temple of Kynareth, either for their own wounds or to speak with the injured. Ulfric was on forced bed rest, but that didn’t stop him from meeting with the uninjured Jarls, planning how Skyrim would move forward. It was a sharp and unexpected turn of events, but suddenly everyone was in agreement: the Thalmor were an enemy of the country, no matter what the Empire said. 

 

The situation still seemed too large for anyone to fully wrap their heads around - the question of  _ how _ they might go about disentangling themselves with the Dominion looming heavily over the heads of every Jarl. The threat of another war was too terrifying to even comprehend. The person who seemed to suffer the worst of it was Elisif. The burden of both appeasing Skyrim as well as the Empire seemed to fall on her shoulders alone. She spent a surprising amount of time at Ulfric’s side as the two posited loose plans and discussed logistics. She was waiting to hear from Tullius about his most recent meeting with the Thalmor embassy, Elenwen specifically, but intended to return to Solitude by the end of the week. 

 

Nilandur was entering the Gray-Mane’s house just as she was leaving. They crossed paths in the living room, coming to a polite halt a reasonable distance from each other. 

“Jarl Elisif.” He bowed formally. “I hope you’re well today.” 

“I am, thank you.” Her smile was small, as if she found such a gesture to be inappropriate. “I feel as though we’re taking steps towards recovery, though everything still feels immense. Surreal. I’m… still having trouble believing that Balgruuf is truly gone.” 

Nilandur smiled sadly. “His inspiration lives on.” 

“Yes... And I know he sits proudly at the tables of Shor’s Hall.” 

 

An awkward silence passed between them for a beat before Elisif spoke up again.

“Here for a healing session?” 

“Ah,” Nilandur nodded a little too vigorously. “Yes. His progress is slow, but I think he’ll have full mobility in his arm by the time all is said and done.” 

“That’s wonderful.” She smiled again, and the expression was beginning to look a little strained. “He…” She paused, mouth twisting momentarily. “You were all very brave… on that day.” Nilandur returned her smile and very much wished for the stilted conversation to end.

“Thank you, Jarl Elisif.” He shifted his weight, struggling with what he should say next. “Your own bravery shines through in your patience and willingness to amend these broken bridges,” he said finally. It seemed to be the right thing, as Elisif moved to stand a little straighter, smiling more authentically. They bid each other a polite ‘good day’ before finally parting. 

 

Nilandur let out a long breath, placing a hand against the door of the Gray-Mane’s guest room, pausing only briefly before pushing in. Ulfric lay on the bed, a book across his chest, eyes closed. He opened them as soon as the door clicked shut. 

 

“How are you feeling today?” Nilandur asked softly. 

Ulfric let out a tremendous sigh, moving the book from his chest and onto the bedside table. “Better. No less tired.”

“Well, you haven’t exactly allowed yourself to rest,” Nilandur chuckled as he pulled a chair up to the side of the bed, settling in. The warm glow of restoration magic pulsed gently in the air as Nilandur began to weave together tendrils of healing light. They spiraled into Ulfric’s left shoulder, almost dancing, threading through the still-healing wound. They sat in comfortable silence as he worked, the Gray-Mane’s large house quiet around them. Ulfric sighed heavily once more, letting his head fall back against the pillow. 

 

“I am haunted by his death,” Ulfric almost whispered. Nilandur’s gaze flickered upwards to Ulfric’s profile. He was looking at the ceiling, eyes half-lidded.

“You responded as valiantly as you could,” Nilandur assured, placing his hand on Ulfric’s injured shoulder, allowing his magicka to flow freely. “I’m just thankful that you’re alright.” He smiled. Ulfric shifted to look at Nilandur’s hand before glancing up. Ulfric’s eyes were a stark blue; piercing.

 

“Why do you care for me so?” he asked after a moment, so forward that Nilandur felt the tips of his ears grow hot. He cleared his throat, moving to pull his hands away, but Ulfric stopped him, placing his own large hand over Nilandur’s slender fingers. Nilandur inhaled sharply, his heart stuttering in his chest. He swallowed thickly, loud to his own ears. 

“Well,” he began tentatively. “You deserve care.” 

Ulfric closed his eyes, removing his hand. “I do not.” His head fell back against the pillow again. 

Nilandur openly scoffed. “Of course you do,” he argued, letting irritation show in his voice. “Humility is one thing, Jarl Ulfric, but I didn’t take you for a fool.” Ulfric didn’t respond.

 

Silence lapsed between them again, somewhat less comfortable than before, and Nilandur resumed his healing, keeping his hands a good distance away from Ulfric’s warm body. 

“I still see her face sometimes. In my darker dreams,” Ulfric murmured. Nilandur slowly turned his gaze to Ulfric’s face, tendrils of magic still undulating in and out of the injured shoulder. 

“She was a talented healer as well.” 

Nilandur was confused for only a moment before his stomach twisted with recognition.  _ Elenwen _ . Ulfric was looking at the opposite wall. 

 

Nilandur let his magicka fade, slowly withdrawing his hands and resting them in his lap. He was unsure of what to say, so he remained silent. This was a confession of some kind - deeply personal, intensely vulnerable. He wanted to listen. 

Ulfric turned back to look at him, his brows knitting together before he spoke. 

“I want to hate you sometimes,” he admitted, and Nilandur couldn’t help but flinch at the spike of pain he felt. Still, he said nothing.

“Often I scold myself for allowing our friendship to grow,” Ulfric continued. “I am angry that I look forward to our conversations, to sharing meals…” He reached out with his injured arm, sliding his fingers along Nilandur’s jaw, “To seeing your face.” Nilandur would have chastised him had he not been nearly paralyzed by the action. Ulfric’s palm was warm against his cheek, his calloused thumb stroking across his cheekbone just below his eye. 

 

Nilandur’s heart was pounding in his chest, and he was sure Ulfric could hear it - fit to break through his ribcage. He was suddenly aware of the small whistling of his nose as his breath quickened, how the air in the room felt against his skin. The small noises that drifted in through the walls were subtle reminders that there was a world outside, carrying on as if this moment between the two of them wasn’t absolutely earth-shattering. Their gazes remained locked. He felt light-headed. Dizzy. His unnamed feelings for Ulfric had only grown more complex and tortuous over the past week, reaching new heights after the attack as the man lay in his lap, nearly drained of blood and fighting to stay alive. He partly wondered if he’d been imagining things, wondering if Aerik was right - that he’d been alone for so long that he had mistaken basic companionship for something it wasn’t, warping and perverting a simple friendship out of loneliness. And yet Ulfric continued to gently run his thumbs across Nilandur’s cheek. 

“I…” His own voice startled him, and he cleared his throat compulsively, breaking eye contact. He realized he didn’t quite know what he was going to say. Ulfric’s hand had slipped down, running a thumb across his pulse point, applying soft pressure at the base of his neck. He wasn’t sure if Ulfric was guiding him forward or if he was leaning of his own accord. 

 

Their noses brushed, and Nilandur couldn’t help his sharp inhale. Ulfric brought his other hand up to brush Nilandur’s long blond hair away from his face, threading his fingers through the fine strands indulgently. As their lips met, Nilandur felt as though he might faint. He braced one hand on the bed next to Ulfric’s shoulder and rested the other on his chest where his heart was beating rapidly beneath his thin cotton tunic. Nilandur let out a long, shaky breath through his nose as Ulfric’s mouth opened, his tongue pressing upwards, tentative, as though asking permission. Nilandur granted it, yielding easily, willingly, a small, vulnerable sound catching in the back of his throat as Ulfric pulled him down harder, but only briefly, before pulling back. 

 

“Lay with me,” he rumbled, and Nilandur wasn’t sure if Ulfric was really being that bold, or if the man was simply asking that he lay beside him. He nodded, regardless, his low back protesting as he righted himself and moved around to the other side of the bed, his arms and legs feeling numb. Ulfric’s eyes were on him the entire time, even as Nilandur sat to remove his boots and thick outer robe. He felt awkward climbing beneath the covers and crawling across the large expanse of the bed, but Ulfric just opened his arms to him, one wrapping around Nilandur’s waist as the other hand slid along the back of his neck again, guiding him down for another kiss. He sighed gratefully as their lips met, and Ulfric did the same.

 

Nilandur allowed his own hands to explore this time, though hesitant, his hair cascading around their faces, shading them from the golden light of the late-day sun as it seeped through the windows. He traced the thick column of Ulfric’s neck, his own fingers cool against impossibly hot skin, stubble rough beneath the sensitive pads of his fingertips. Everything about Ulfric was overwhelmingly masculine, and Nilandur thought that he would be disturbed by that, or even repelled, but nothing about this felt unnatural. It felt inevitable. He slid his fingers across Ulfric’s jaw, carded them through the graying hair at his temples, rubbed his thumb across the short, round edge of his ear. Ulfric rumbled deep in his chest, almost like a growl, his right hand trailing down Nilandur’s back, resting just above his hips, pulling him down so that they lay flush against one another. Nilandur gasped against Ulfric’s mouth, suddenly aware of how aroused he had become, stiff against Ulfric’s thigh.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, and he wasn’t sure why he was apologizing. 

 

Ulfric’s smile was small, barely there. He shifted his weight onto his good arm, pushing Nilandur onto his back, slotting their thighs together. Nilandur sucked in a breath, feeling Ulfric’s arousal grinding down against his hip as the man pushed his hair away and placed slow, deliberate kisses along the side of Nilandur’s neck. The brush of his beard was halfway between an unbearable tickle and utter ecstasy, sending exquisite shivers down the full length of his body. He moaned softly, the small sound wanton even to his own ears.  _ Auri-El, it has been so long _ , he thought frantically. Ulfric let out another growl in response, embodying the bear of his family’s crest. One of his large hands scooped beneath Nilandur’s low back, pulling their bodies closer. He captured his mouth once more, hot and wanting, pushing, demanding. Nilandur felt their hips connect and he whined. 

 

“Wait,” he breathed, pushing at Ulfric’s chest, hating himself for stopping. “I… it’s too much.” He shuddered as Ulfric’s warm breath ghosted across his face. 

“What do you want?” he asked, lips moving against Nilandur’s jaw. He swallowed, his mind racing. They were so close. Ulfric was like a furnace - heat and musk and power, and it was intoxicating. Never in his life had he felt so incredibly consumed by someone. He pulled back slightly, looking down at Nilandur with questioning eyes. 

“What do I want?” Nilandur repeated, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Ulfric’s ear, his face hovering  mere inches away. Ulfric nodded and closed his eyes, their noses brushing again. Nilandur took a stuttering breath, unconsciously rolling his body upwards into Ulfric’s.

“Talos help me…” Ulfric murmured like a prayer, opening his eyes. “You’re beautiful.” Nilandur laughed, a noise something between a sob and a hiccup. 

“That’s ridiculous,” he sniffed. Ulfric’s hand was trailing beneath his shirt, moving across his hip, below his back, up between his shoulder blades. The skin-on-skin contact was electrifying, making him ache for more. 

“It’s true,” he insisted, once again dropping his mouth below Nilandur’s jaw to place a kiss against the hollow of his throat. “You drive me mad.” Ulfric inhaled deeply, as if trying to pull him into his lungs. Nilandur let out a shuddering exhale, fingers snaking into Ulfric’s hair, gripping tightly. 

“I don’t know…” he began, taking a moment to swallow. “I don’t know how far… I can go. I can’t… I don’t know…” He thoughts were disjointed, lips brushing against Ulfric’s temple as he spoke. 

“Shh…” Ulfric soothed, pulling back and brushing Nilandur’s hair away from his face. “To simply have you here is enough.”

 

Nilandur wet his lips nervously, nodding, using his thumbs to smooth down Ulfric’s eyebrows, trailing down his cheeks, one thumb gently tracing his lower lip. 

“Stay with me?” Ulfric asked, and Nilandur’s heart leapt into his throat. He knew he just meant for the night, but the simple question felt weighty. Ulfric’s expression was raw, open, laid bare and ready to be wounded. Nilandur nodded again, smiling every so slightly. 

“I can stay for a bit,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t spend the night, though.” He felt foolish for caring about such a thing. His mind wandered back to Aerik and Teldryn, despite himself, shame burning deep in his gut at the idea of them finding out what had just transpired. Ulfric simply nodded in understanding, kissing him deeply once more before falling onto his side with a grunt. 

 

Nilandur turned onto his side as well, facing Ulfric, reaching up to push another strand of hair out of the man’s face. Ulfric caught his hand mid movement, placing a kiss against his palm, almost worshipfully, before kissing the pad of each of his fingers. Nilandur just looked at him from beneath half-lidded eyes, quietly cherishing the way Ulfric’s eyelashes stood out against his cheeks. They continued to run their hands along the curves and angles of each others bodies, softly, as if afraid of startling the other. Nilandur couldn’t help but smile as Ulfric pulled him to his chest, resting his chin atop Nilandur’s head and wrapping him up tightly in his large arms, intertwining their legs. 

“Mind your shoulder,” Nilandur suggested through a smile, voice muffled against Ulfric’s sternum. He felt the rumbling chuckle more than he heard it. Ulfric stroked his hair mindlessly. It was calming. Comforting. Nilandur let his eyes fall closed, heaving a great sigh. He smiled widely, overcome with emotion, and buried his face more deeply into Ulfric’s chest. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he slung his own arm around Ulfric’s waist and pulled him closer. 

 

Between the silence of the house, Ulfric’s hand running steadily through his hair, and their combined rhythmic breathing, Nilandur felt himself drifting off. He wasn’t sure when it happened, but sleep took him eventually, pulling him down into a warm, blessed darkness.  

 

///

 

Nilandur woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed with a gasp. Ulfric startled awake next to him, sniffling loudly. The room was dark and quiet and Nilandur felt utterly disoriented. 

“Oh gods… I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” He threw the covers back, beginning to scoot his way across the bed. 

“Nilandur,” Ulfric rumbled, voice low and rough. “Steady.” He reached a hand out and grabbed Nilandur’s arm before he could move too far. “Take a breath.” 

“I have to get home.”

“It’s perfectly alright…”

“Aerik and Teldryn will be worried.” 

“Is that really what you’re concerned about?” 

 

Nilandur paused, looking back down at where Ulfric lay. There was just enough light flooding in from beneath the door to make out his expression - questioning, pleading. It felt like a heavier moment of decision than it should be. The groundwork was laid, the possibilities presented, and Nilandur felt as though he were standing at a fork in the road - looking to the left, then to the right, then back again. 

“They won’t be happy with me,” Nilandur all but whispered, trembling slightly. Ulfric tugged lightly on his arm, pulling him back over. 

“Lay down. Just breathe.”

 

With one final glance at the door, Nilandur finally gave in and moved back, lowering himself down rather stiffly. Ulfric curled onto his side, pulling Nilandur’s back up against his chest and looping his arm across Nilandur’s midsection. 

“You’re heart is fluttering like a rabbit’s,” Ulfric murmured into his hair, breath warm against his scalp.

“Sometimes I feel like one,” Nilandur laughed quietly. 

“A rabbit?” 

“Yes.” He laced his fingers with Ulfric’s. “Flighty. Fearful. Restless.”

“I would not describe you as any of those things,” Ulfric countered thoughtfully. “Nervous, perhaps, maybe even cautious.” 

“I’m nothing but restless,” Nilandur all but scoffed. “I left home to come to Skyrim because I was restless. I left Brea because I was restless. I left Artaeum because I was  _ restless _ .” He swallowed. “Because I was afraid...” He sighed, turning into the pillow, heat flooding his face as he finally put his shame into words. Ulfric’s grip tightened around him, but he otherwise said nothing. They lay in silence for a long while and Nilandur felt his heart rate begin to slow, his breath evening out. 

 

“And this…” he spoke up again, seemingly out of nowhere. “This was never supposed to happen.” Ulfric just hummed in response, so Nilandur continued. “I feel like I should be fighting against it. In fact...” He shifted onto his back, turning towards Ulfric. “I know I should.” 

“I think I’ve done enough fighting,” Ulfric sighed, bringing their foreheads together. Nilandur laughed a little hysterically, and Ulfric silenced him with a kiss.

 

It was slow, tender, but it burned hot, heating Nilandur all the way to his toes, and he was overcome with a sudden burst of need. He pushed Ulfric onto his back, careful with the still-healing shoulder, and straddled his hips. They rocked into each other with an undulating, driving urgency that made Nilandur forget that he should have gone home. He forgot that he was supposed to feel ashamed. All of his focus and attention went into Ulfric, into feeling those large, warm hands trailing beneath his tunic, up his sides, sliding across his ribs. He still gasped at Ulfric’s arousal, quietly terrified of his own as well, feeling as though he were a bumbling, inexperienced youth all over again. He didn’t dare engage - not yet - and Ulfric seemed to know this, or to understand at the very least, content to simply run his hands across Nilandur’s body, anywhere he could reach.

 

Exhaustion lapped at the edges of Nilandur’s mind and his movements soon became lethargic, his kisses slowing until he simply held his mouth against Ulfric’s jaw, breathing deeply. They stilled for a long moment before Nilandur finally pulled back. Ulfric reached up to tuck a long strand of hair behind Nilandur’s ear as they held each other’s gaze for a moment longer. There were plenty of things Nilandur wanted to say, though he couldn’t find the words - he could barely summon the energy to speak. He rolled off Ulfric, falling onto his side with a sigh. He curled up against Ulfric’s chest once again, this time allowing sleep to wrap him up and pull him under. He heard Ulfric whisper something into his hair, but couldn’t quite make out the words before his mind slipped away. His dreams were turbulent and anxious, wandering endlessly through the gardens of Artaeum, through mazes of hedges and flower bushes, blocked by fountains and stone walls, but never encountering another living soul. 

 

///

 

Nilandur walked briskly back to Breezehome in the pale twilight of the early morning. The stars were just beginning to fade above him as he pushed into the house, carefully and quietly shutting the door behind him. He paused, still facing the door, and sighed deeply, before turning around. A strangled yelp died in his throat and he slapped a hand over his mouth, nearly jumping out of his skin. Teldryn sat in one of the chairs near the hearth, as silent and as dark as a shadow, an open book in his lap.

“You were out late,” he said lowly, a reflection of the glowing embers flickering in his deep red eyes. Nilandur swallowed thickly, his heart hammering unacceptably fast. He struggled to answer, but he felt like he had to say something. An excuse? An explanation? Should he lie or should he tell a half-truth?

“Don’t tell Aerik.” He was surprised at himself. Teldryn just smirked rising to his feet. 

“I tell him everything,” he said, closing the book with a snap, and Nilandur felt his throat constrict. “However, this would probably just be a distraction.”

“I’m sorry,” Nilandur exhaled more than said, and Teldryn just shook his head. 

“You shouldn’t be apologizing to me.” He made his way towards the stairs. “I’m simply… a concerned friend.” Nilandur felt glued to the spot, his mouth dry. Teldryn paused with one foot on the first step, turning back around one last time. 

“You would do well to guard yourself.”

Nilandur nodded a bit frantically. “I appreciate the advice. Ah…” He paused for a moment. “What were you doing awake so early?” Teldryn stared at him for a moment longer, and Nilandur felt a small shiver run up his spine. Teldryn terrified him in a primitive kind of way; inexplicable, but palpable. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” he answered plainly, before ascending the stairs.  

 

Nilandur let out a long breath, falling back against the door. He waited for his heart rate to return to normal before he set about making breakfast. Despite having found at least a few hours of rest, he still felt utterly exhausted. He’d woken well before sunrise and managed to pry himself from Ulfric’s arms after at least an hour of unhurried kisses, promising to return later that day. A smile worked its way across his face, despite himself, and he pressed his fingers to his lips. It felt unreal, as if it had all been a dream. Closing his eyes, his stomach fluttered and he couldn’t believe he was feeling this way, especially at his age. It felt childish, inadvisable,  _ dangerous _ , and yet he couldn’t stop smiling.   

  
  
*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahahaha you're either gonna hate it or love it.   
> But either way: _[“And this…” “This was never supposed to happen.”]_ Too true, Nil. And yet, here we are. 
> 
> Once the story is over I'll gush appropriately about how this ship saved these characters... 
> 
> SPEAKING OF FINISHING THIS STORY.   
> **Small "Author's Note" ahead:**
> 
> So, for many reasons, the outline of this story changed radically during the process of writing it, but there are still probably only 4 to 5 chapters left of story to tell before everything gets all neatly wrapped up. That being said, I am at a point where I'm barely staying one chapter ahead of myself before posting. (It's kind of stressful, which is silly because I'm doing this for fun and honestly trying to keep my once-a-week update schedule is just ridiculous).   
> So: *ahem* 
> 
> **Further Invictus updates will be postponed until I've finished writing it in its entirety.**
> 
> This could take a month, it could take a bit longer. But either way _we're finishing this goddamn story_.  
> Thank you so, so, SO much to everyone who'd been a faithful reader so far - it seriously knocks my goddamn socks off the response I've gotten from this fic. It's a labor of love and it continues to surprise me, even as I write it. And I'd rather leave you guys on this happy little note before shit takes off again.
> 
> So hang on tight and we'll be back before you know it! ♡


	20. A Dagger in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, my loves!! 
> 
> Ahh! I've been so excited to post this chapter - honestly I've been excited for this chapter since I posted the _last_ chapter, but I restrained myself until I had more of the story written. I've actually been having a blast finishing off this story - once I worked past a few logistical humps, the words started to flow like honey. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who offered kind words and encouragements! I'm happy to be updating again.
> 
> -
> 
> Thanks so much to [spiney](http://archiveofourown.org/users/spiney) for the amazing beta work! This chapter felt so polished after you were done.

“We gotta talk to that agent,” Aerik insisted into his ale. 

 

The day had come and gone, and Teldryn and Aerik found themselves attempting to wind down at the Drunken Huntsman, the small tavern warm with bodies and thick with the sharp, bitter smell of hops. Realistically, ‘winding down’ might be impossible; the entire city was on high alert,  guards tense and citizens agitated. 

Teldryn lifted his cup of watery, lukewarm tea to his lips, his choice drink over any alcohol the establishment offered. “What do you intend to ask her?”

“Well…” Aerik ran his thumb along the rim of his tankard. “I’d ask what exactly the Thalmor were thinking by interrupting a neutral political moot. And secondly, I figured I might be able to intimidate her into giving away the location of their secret lair, or… something like that.” Aerik took a hasty sip of his ale, looking away. 

Teldryn laughed. “Secret lair?” 

Aerik’s eyes narrowed, his words were quick and sharp. “You got any better ideas?”

“Well, ‘better’ is subjective, but I think perhaps it might be smart to simply see what she knows first, before assuming there’s a secret lair.” Teldryn sipped his tea with a grunt before setting it down and pushing the cup away. “Disgusting.” Aerik just harrumphed, taking another long pull of his ale. 

“So how do you want to do this?” he asked, turning towards Teldryn, a bit of foam clinging to his upper lip. “The old-fashioned way? Maybe try to cook up some invisibility potions? We could always see if Nil wants to use his little… sleepy-time rabbit again.”

“Hmm…” Teldryn reached up to wipe away the foam and Aerik made a motion to bite his fingers, grinning wolfishly as his teeth clicked together. Teldryn smirked. “Something tells me Nilandur isn’t going to want to be a part of this.”

“What? Why?” 

“Well, because we’ll probably have to use a bit of force to get the information we want. He’s not a fan of that.” 

“Pacifists,” Aerik huffed, cradling his beer with both hands. 

“And I think he’s a little focused on helping manage the political side of things.” 

Aerik let out a dry laugh. “That annoys the shit out of me, you know.”

Teldryn nodded. “Better him than us, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose.” Aerik drained the last of his ale, slamming the tankard down onto the counter. “Best get to it then.” 

“What?” Teldryn blinked dumbly as Aerik pushed back from the bar and got to his feet. “Right now? This evening?” 

“Sure. Why not?” 

“You don’t want to, I don’t know, perhaps  _ prepare _ a little bit more?”

Aerik grinned at him. “I work better with spontaneity.” 

“Permit me to disagree…” Teldryn mumbled, following his husband out of the tavern. 

 

The sun had already set, sinking well below Whiterun’s walls and casting the city in cool, blue shadows of early evening. Climbing to Dragonsreach, Teldryn was able to witness the last rays of orange and pink before twilight set in, moving into Azura’s sacred, liminal realm. The guard outside the dungeon startled as they approached, standing a little straighter, giving Teldryn the idea that he may have been half asleep.    

“We need to speak with the Thalmor prisoners,” Aerik demanded.

“I’m sorry, but the prisoners are under close surveillance. It’s a matter of great security. There are to be no…”   
“Ah yeah, hello. I’m a Thane,” Aerik interjected with a small wave. “Let us talk to the prisoners.”

“I’m sorry, I’m under strict orders…”   
“How about, ‘I’m the Dragonborn’ instead?” Aerik pressed. 

“Aerik…” Teldryn warned. He stepped forward to address the guard. “Who gave you the orders to guard the prisoners?” 

“Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak has tasked us with the responsibility of making sure…”

“Ulfric! Perfect!” Aerik beamed. “He’s a  _ close  _ friend of ours. Good friend. He won’t mind if we go in and have a chat, I promise.” The guard shifted nervously. “Besides,” Aerik continued, crossing his arms, his tone darkening. “You wouldn’t want to be held responsible for getting in the way of the Dragonborn’s work, would you?” Teldryn heard the guard swallow before stepping aside. 

“Make it quick,” he clipped, looking both ways as he opened the door. 

 

The inside of the jail smelled like straw and old sweat, sour and pungent. Another guard was sitting at a table to their right and quickly got to his feet when they entered. Aerik just grinned at him, giving a thumbs up before motioning for him to sit back down. Hesitantly, the guard obeyed, and Teldryn and Aerik strode confidently into the adjoining chamber. The low stone arches of the ceiling left Teldryn feeling a bit claustrophobic, and tattered flags with Whiterun’s crest fluttered in the cool draft that seemed to blow perpetually from the opposite end of the room. Aerik trotted over to check the first cell, turning quickly on his heel to move to the next. 

 

“Well, well…” he chuckled, self-satisfied. “A rat in a cage.” Teldryn walked briskly to his side, peering between the bars to see the head Thalmor agent. She sat hunched over on the small cot, her cowl removed with gleaming silver anti-magicka manacles around her wrists, looking thoroughly vexed. Her long, wheat-blonde hair was dirty and tangled at the ends; her cheeks were hollow and gaunt, dark half moons beneath her eyes.  

“Spare me, half-breed,” she sneered. “What is it you want? To interrogate me I assume? Let me be the first to warn you: you’re going to be disappointed.” 

“Don’t sell yourself short!” Aerik cracked his knuckles. “I’m sure you have plenty of classified information to betray.”

The agent grinned wickedly. “You have no idea.” 

 

Teldryn felt his gut twist as something gnarled and insidious tugged at the corners of his mind, alarm bells ringing in his ears. He wanted to speak, but Aerik beat him to it. 

“So out with it then - why attack the moot?” 

“How dull,” she sighed, inspecting her fingernails. “You don’t even want to torture me?” 

“That just sounds like you  _ want  _ me to torture you.” Aerik waggled his eyebrows.

The agent rolled her eyes. “I  _ interrupted _ the moot because I had orders to.” 

Aerik scoffed. “Well, yeah.” He crossed his arms, tilting his head to the side. “Of course you had orders to. You were trying to arrest people.” 

“Oh I added the part about the monk for dramatic flair,” she smirked, leaning back against the stone wall and crossing her legs. “There  _ is _ quite a high bounty on his head, though. Yours, too, Dragonborn. As well as your nasty little mutt of a husband.” Aerik’s palms crackled with electricity, rising easily to the bait. 

“Love,” Teldryn said lowly, placing a firm hand against Aerik’s shoulder. “She’s trying to get a rise out of you. Focus.” The agent was laughing, tilting her head back, eyes closed, as if the situation was truly hilarious. 

“You’re so pathetic,” she sighed.

“So why mention arresting Nilandur if you weren’t even there to do that?” Aerik asked, his anger still bubbling dangerously close to the surface. “To collect the bounty yourself?” 

“Truthfully, I just wanted to piss Ulfric off. Remind him who was  _ actually _ in control,” she sneered, sounding almost bored. “And it worked. Nords are so… predictable. Though I wasn’t supposed to end up in here.” She gestured as elegantly as she could to her surroundings before turning her attention back to her fingernails. “I suppose the deal was off.”

“What deal?” Aerik spat, grabbing onto the bars of the cell. Her eyes flickered upwards to look at him, pale yellow, almost white. A slow smile spread across her face, smug, self-satisfied.

“Oh, I forget myself.” She chuckled darkly. “Did I not mention that Ulfric was the one who gave me the orders?” 

 

Teldryn’s stomach dropped, his face going cold. 

“...What?” It was almost a whisper, Aerik’s knuckles white around the thick steel bars.

“Oh yes,” she insisted with a nod, still smiling. “He’s quite the… pragmatist, finding such fascinating solutions to problems he, himself, creates.” Her expression fell into one of mock surprise. “Dear me, I’ve probably said too much.”       

 

 

“Aerik  _ stop _ !” Teldryn called, jogging after his husband as he stormed out of the dungeons. 

“I’m going to kill him,” Aerik growled, still walking briskly towards the front of Dragonsreach. 

“We don’t even know if she’s telling the truth!”

“And to think I was actually starting to trust him? Hah, never making that mistake again.” 

“Aerik, just slow down.” 

“ _ WULD! _ ” With a thunderous crack Aerik was halfway down the steps of Dragonsreach as the guards and citizens ducked and covered their ears, one woman letting out a startled scream. Teldryn cursed loudly, breaking into a sprint. 

 

 

* * *

 

“Any pain?” Nilandur asked, tapping a finger against his lower lip as Ulfric swung his arm in a circle.

“Only stiffness,” he grunted, pulling his arm across his chest. “No pain.” He smiled softly and stepped forward, cupping the back of Nilandur’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss. “I owe you my life,” Ulfric murmured, wrapping his other arm around Nilandur’s waist and pulling him closer. Nilandur smiled against Ulfric’s mouth, reaching up to brush his thumbs across the ridges of his cheeks.   

“Nonsense. It was nothing.”

Ulfric huffed. “Humility, when taken to the extreme can be incredibly…” He pulled back, quirking a brow. “Annoying.” Nilandur laughed openly, resting his hands on Ulfric’s shoulders.

“It’s getting late,” Ulfric pointed out, still holding him around the waist. Nilandur looked over his shoulder at the darkened windows of the Gray-Mane’s house. 

“Did you want me to stay?” 

“Only if you would like to.”

“Well, I-” 

 

A sudden crack of noise, almost like lightning, made Nilandur jump; Ulfric’s arm tightened around his waist momentarily. 

“What was that?” 

Ulfric stepped back, putting space between them. “A Shout.” 

“That was Aerik? What could he be-” The front door burst open with a crash, knocking decorations from the walls as books and plates toppled from shelves. Aerik stepped inside, arms crackling with electricity.

“You son of a bitch,” he said lowly, his voice no more than a ragged growl. “He’s dead because of you.” 

“Aerik! What on Nirn?” Nilandur stepped protectively in front of Ulfric, beginning to pull magicka towards him. “Drop your charges at once!” Teldryn appeared behind Aerik then, panting and out of breath. Aerik was striding towards Ulfric, his eyes practically glowing with fury.

“Were you in on it, Nil?” Aerik turned to Nilandur. “Did you know?” 

“What are you talking about?” Nilandur was doing his best to remain calm, but magicka swirled around his arms and Ulfric was deadly silent behind him. He saw Teldryn close the door, readying what looked to be a calming spell. 

“Tell him, Ulfric!” Aerik yelled. Ulfric just stared at him. “You mean to say you haven’t even told him? But you two are so  _ close _ these days. ” 

 

Nilandur saw Fralia pressed against the wall near the balcony upstairs, drawn out by the commotion, her eyes wide. He prayed she was the only other person in the house.

“Aerik, if you just drop your spell charges,” Nilandur gestured calmly, palms facing the ground, “we can talk this out. I’m sure that whatever has angered you is just a misunderstanding.” 

“He fucking planned it, Nil!” Aerik shouted, electricity crackling. “The attack on the moot - he fucking ordered it!” 

Nilandur couldn’t help himself: he laughed. “That’s preposterous,” he scoffed, looking over his shoulder at Ulfric. The smile slid from his face at Ulfric’s expression - gravely serious, unmoving, staring directly at Aerik. 

“Ulfric?” 

A long pause passed between them during which nobody moved or spoke. Ulfric and Aerik continued to lock eyes, neither backing down. Finally, Ulfric inhaled sharply through his nose, drawing himself up a little straighter. 

“Nobody was supposed to die,” he said, quiet but firm. 

 

A pain bloomed in Nilandur’s chest, so terrible and so sharp that he clutched at it like an open wound, stepping backwards, moving away. Ulfric looked to him then, the creases in his forehead pronounced, the circles beneath his eyes dark. The shadows that played across his face in the flickering firelight were both sinister and a portrait of utter agony. Aerik’s arms still crackled with electricity, but he seemed to be waiting, watching. 

“Nobody was supposed to die,” Ulfric said again, softer, and more to Nilandur than anyone. 

“Why?” Nilandur all but whispered. “Why would you-”

“To remind them,” Ulfric interrupted. His fists were balled at his side, knuckles white. “To remind them who the real threat was.” His jaw shifted, clenched tight. “To create a common enemy.” Nilandur’s stomach twisted; he felt as though he might be ill. 

“Not like that, Ulfric,” he pleaded softly, too little too late. “I didn’t mean like that.”

“Alright, so how do we want to do this?” Aerik interrupted. “You come quietly, or you put up a fight, I kick your ass…”

“Aerik,” Teldryn warned. Nilandur had almost forgotten he was there, blending in with the shadows, his hands still glowing faintly with a calming spell. “We cannot, absolutely  _ cannot _ act rashly with this information.” 

“I’m sorry, when did  _ seeking out justice _ count as acting rashly?” Aerik countered, lip curling into a snarl. 

“When it could upset the entire balance of the damn country, that’s when,” Teldryn insisted. 

“He’s correct,” Ulfric rumbled lowly.

“You,” Teldryn snapped, pointing a finger at Ulfric. “You don’t get to agree with me right now. And you’d do well to keep your mouth shut while we figure this mess out.”

“I’m not just going to walk out of here until I see him held accountable for what he did!” Aerik yelled, magicka crackling back to life again.

 

With a quick flourish, Nilandur clenched his jaw and released a tremendous wave of magicka that rolled through the entire house like a tidal wave, spilling across the rough wooden floors and lapping against the walls. It calmed, and a greenish haze settled gently around their heads. Aerik and Teldryn immediately dropped their prepared spells, their eyes going blank. 

“Fralia,” Nilandur said calmly, looking up at the balcony. “I think you should go back to your room, dear. Get some sleep. This was all just an odd dream.” Fralia nodded, glassy-eyed, before turning back into her bedroom and closing the door.

“Now,” Nilandur turned back to the other three, wiping his hands on the front of his robes. “I’d like to know how you came into this information.” 

“The head Thalmor agent told us,” Aerik answered in an even tone. “We wanted to interrogate her. To see if she had any information regarding the Thalmor’s plans for the Throat of the World.”

“And she told you this instead?” 

Aerik nodded.

“Right.” Nilandur turned to Ulfric then. “And you worked with her to orchestrate the attack?” 

“Yes,” Ulfric said, nodding calmly. “She is more of a free agent than part of the Thalmor, though she still maintains some of her political ties.” 

“So she is someone you’ve known for a while then?” 

“She was assigned to be my contact after the Great War ended,” Ulfric explained. “When the Thalmor still had leverage over me, using it to gain political insight. She was their go-between. After she deserted her position, we remained in contact only when it was beneficial to both of us.”

Nilandur nodded thoughtfully, his mind numb. He felt utterly devoid of emotion and hoped the lack of feeling would last a bit longer. There was still work to be done. 

“Teldryn, I think Aerik is ready to go home,” Nilandur suggested. “Will you take him back to the house? Neither of you can leave until I return.” Teldryn nodded, striding towards Aerik and placing an arm around his waist. Nilandur watched them leave, then turned to Ulfric. 

“You should go to your room and get some rest,” he said, his voice beginning to waver. Ulfric was looking at him, expressionless, and Nilandur was overwhelmed with self-loathing, disgusted by his own power. He cleared his throat. “No one is to know of this conversation.” Ulfric nodded and moved silently towards the guest room. After the door closed, Nilandur took a long, deep breath and sat down into one of the living room chairs, clutching its arms tightly to still his trembling hands.  

 

It had been a long time since he’d attempted this. His present state was far from ideal, but he calmed himself, quieting his mind, feeling the pulse of magicka around him weaving through the ether. A low, pleasant hum filled his head, droning, washing out any other sound - the crackling of the fire, the creaking of the house, the distant footfall of the guards - all faded into silence, replaced by the deep, resonating thrum. 

 

He opened his eyes.

 

The room had taken on a cool, blue tint, flecks of residual magicka falling like snow in the corners of his vision. He stood slowly, carefully, turning around to look at his own body, still seated in the chair. With a sigh, he blinked out of the Gray-Mane’s house with a thought.  

 

The agent looked startled as he appeared in her cell, the world frozen around them. She scrambled backwards to press herself up against the wall, drawing her feet up onto the cot, eyes wide. He long hair undulated as if underwater, swaying gently with her movements. Nilandur smiled at her. 

“I believe we need to have a chat.”

The agent’s eyes darted about wildly. “What have you done?”

“I’ve ensured us some privacy,” Nilandur explained, clasping his hands behind his back. “Because I have quite a few questions.” She seemed to relax only marginally, easing down to sit normally again. 

“Well go on then.” She flicked her chin upwards, settling her manacled hands in her lap. “Ask.”

“What is your name?” 

“Is that really pertinent information?” she snapped.

Nilandur smiled wearily. “I was simply trying to be polite.” The agent seemed to vacillate for a moment, shifting on the cot. Nilandur could feel the strain of holding them in a suspended state beginning to pull at the edges of his magicka.

“It’s Nairume,” she said finally. “Now ask your damn questions.” 

“What were the exact terms of your agreement with Ulfric?” 

She let out a startled laugh, sounding almost relieved. “Ah, yes. Of course. Of course you want to know about that…” She sighed. “When I got his letter I almost couldn’t believe it, you know. After all these years and  _ this _ is what he’s asking me to do? This is the favor I owe him?” She chuckled, crossing her legs and looking off to the side. “Fifteen years. Not a word. And then he…” She shook her head. “Sorry, you asked for exact terms. Well, there was a significant amount of money involved. But essentially he said to put on a good show, and if I was to injure anyone it was to be him.” She smiled. “Which I took great joy in doing.” 

Nilandur suppressed a sigh. “And what else?” 

“I was supposed to just… attempt to arrest him. Ruffle some feathers, muss up a Nordic tradition. Play the part of the villain - cut and dry. But then…” She trailed off, looking thoughtfully over Nilandur’s shoulder. “Well, then I saw him.” Her shoulders curled forward even more and her eyes darted back to Nilandur, venomous. “And then I saw  _ you _ .”

Nilandur said nothing, holding her gaze steady. Their liminal state was becoming more and more difficult to maintain, but he couldn’t let her know. He had to let her finish. 

“And why did seeing him, or seeing me, change things?” 

“Oh I knew who you were,” she scoffed, and Nilandur didn’t point out that he never implied that she didn’t. “Your name is rolling off every Thalmor tongue right now. There’s a high bounty on your head. I wouldn’t have minded cashing in on it, if I’m honest. But then Ulfric…” Her lip curled in distaste. “Then he tried to  _ spare  _ you - to  _ protect you _ . And that’s when I knew. That’s when I knew he’d managed to find himself some other Altmer to… to  _ hate fuck _ .” Nilandur’s throat tightened, and he had to stop himself from sucking in a startled breath. She must have still noticed a reaction, because her eyes flashed mischievously. “I think he hates us so much it turns him on, you know?”

“So you broke the terms of your agreement out of jealousy?” Nilandur asked calmly, and he really didn’t intend for it to sound as accusatory as it did. 

“I’m not  _ jealous _ ,” she shouted, springing to her feet. Her nostrils were flared, jaw clenched, and she quickly tried to regain her composure, smoothing back her pale blonde hair from where it had curled weightlessly around her cheeks. “I just realized in that moment that all he wanted was for me to play my part. And so I did. I played the villain. And then… then that filthy fucking Nord spoke out of turn and I just couldn’t help myself.” She laughed bitterly. 

The connection was weakening and Nilandur felt stretched too thin. 

“And the other two agents?” he pressed.

“Hired hands,” she said simply, sitting back down. “Of course, now they might be executed. Who knows.”

Nilandur grimaced, furrowing his brow as he tried to concentrate for just a bit longer. Nairume was looking at him curiously, calculating. 

“I wish I could tell you why they want a Psijic so badly,” she offered. “But I haven’t been with the Thalmor for over twenty-five years. I have ears on the inside, but…” She sighed with a shrug, looking suddenly very tired. “Hope you found this information to be useful. I regret my actions, if you must know.” She sounded petulant, like a child, and when Nilandur really studied her, she did appear to be quite young - even for an Altmer. “The satisfaction of it isn’t worth dying for.”

“If everything you’ve told me is true,” Nilandur began, feeling his connection beginning to slip. “And if I can have your word not to tell another soul. I can try to see to your release.” 

Nairume’s eyes widened and she sat up a bit straighter. “Are you serious?” 

“I am,” Nilandur nodded. “But if I catch word that you’ve let this secret slip, I have ways of finding you, of course.” He didn’t like threatening people. It felt unnatural. But he still added: “And I also have ways of taking those memories from you.”

If Nairume was threatened, it didn’t show, but she did narrow her eyes, giving him a quick once-over. 

“I can see why the Thalmor want you, then.” She leaned back. “But answer me this - why protect him? He’s a tyrant. He doesn’t  _ deserve _ your loyalty.”

“I’m not protecting him,” Nilandur replied, almost too quickly. “I’m protecting Skyrim.” And with that, he lost his grip, his astral body dissolving around him. 

 

He took a staggering breath as he came to in the Gray-Mane’s living room, the soft flakes of magicka still settling around him. His fingernails had gone slightly black and there was a dull, throbbing ache that seemed to pulse through his entire body in time with his heartbeat. Ulfric’s door was still closed and the house was quiet. Tension crept into Nilandur’s throat, tightening - he felt the weight of the entire situation beginning to press in. He forced himself to stand, clenching his jaw against the pain. With one final look at Ulfric’s door, he left the house. 

 

Whiterun was dark and quiet, most of her citizens bedding down for the evening. Nilandur walked numbly through the streets, one foot in front of the other, breathing in for four steps, breathing out for five. The dull throb was beginning to ebb, but the pain in his fingers was still sharp. He gripped the doorknob with a shaking hand, took one more long breath, and pushed into Breezehome.

 

Aerik was on him almost immediately, slamming him against the closed door, fists curling into the front of Nilandur’s robes. Teldryn yelled Aerik’s name, but everything sounded like it was underwater, muffled by a dull ringing in Nilandur’s ears.

“Stay out of my fucking head,” Aerik growled, his face inches away from Nilandur’s. “Don’t you ever...” His grip on Nilandur’s robes tightened, shaking him slightly. “ _ Ever _ get in my head. Ever again. Do you fucking understand me?”

Nilandur nodded frantically. “Yes. I’m sor-” Aerik pulled him forward and shoved him to the side, then pulled the front door open and stepped through, slamming it behind him. Nilandur tripped backwards, bumping up against a cabinet, taking a moment to steady himself. Teldryn was staring at him from the other side of the hearthfire.

“Well?” he asked finally, tone sharp and voice almost too loud, making Nilandur flinch. 

“I…” He cleared his throat. “I spoke to the Thalmor agent… or,” he paused, rubbing a hand across his eyes, “whatever she is. Free agent.” Teldryn continued to look at him expectantly, arms crossed. “Ulfric’s story and hers line up for the most part. She broke the agreement not to injure anyone except Ulfric. And he…” Nilandur felt his throat tighten again, gut twisting in panic.

“This is all my fault,” he whispered, sliding down the front of the cabinet to the floor and pulling his knees to his chest. 

Teldryn laughed, low and bitter. “Is it?”

Nilandur nodded. “I told him…” He sniffed loudly, determined to maintain his composure. “I told him that we needed to create a common enemy.”

Teldryn scoffed. “That’s hardly telling someone to commit treason.” He looked into the fire for a moment before looking back at Nilandur. “Listen, I’m rightfully pissed at you for how you handled the situation back there, but I understand why you felt the need to do it.”

Nilandur couldn’t meet his gaze, too ashamed. He stared blankly at the stone floor, running the conversation he’d just had with Nairume through his head repeatedly. Teldryn continued to watch him for a long moment before sighing loudly. 

“Come on,” he walked over. “Up you go.” Nilandur looked up at his outstretched hands before tentatively taking them and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. 

“Where did Aerik go?” he asked, too exhausted to panic further. 

“Probably to blow up a mammoth or something equally stupid.” Teldryn put a firm hand on his shoulder, guiding him up the stairs. “I’ll go after him in a moment.”

“Thank you,” Nilandur croaked, and Teldryn just patted him amicably. 

“How are…” Teldryn coughed. “How are you holding up? What with… ah… Well, with...”  _ Ulfric _ . It was unspoken, but Nilandur just shook his head.

“I think I just need rest.”   
“And a healing draught,” Teldryn added as they reached the top of the stairs, and Nilandur looked at him questioningly. 

“Your fingers.”

“Ah, yes…” Nilandur looked down at his hands as Teldryn guided him into his room. “Just over-extended a bit.”

“A bad habit of yours.” 

“Apparently.” Nilandur forced himself to laugh, which turned into a small hiccup of a sob. Teldryn patted his shoulder again. 

“Lie down now. I’ll bring you a potion.”

Nilandur sucked in a shuddering breath. “He’ll never forgive me.”

“Yes, he will,” Teldryn insisted, sounding annoyed. They didn’t have to clarify that they were talking about Aerik. “Now lie down.” 

 

The bed felt like a rock beneath him as he stared up at the ceiling. Teldryn came back moments later with the healing draught and made Nilandur sit up to drink it while he watched. It was bitter, and he almost gagged, but the dull ache in his arms and legs immediately lessened. 

“Alright.” Teldryn sighed loudly. “To sleep with you.” 

“I’m so sorry, Teldryn,” Nilandur whispered. 

“None of that right now,” Teldryn grumbled with a dismissive wave. “Just get some rest.” Nilandur nodded, lowering himself back down against the bed. Teldryn stood there looking at him for a moment longer, and Nilandur still felt just the tiniest bit afraid of him. Even after everything. It made him feel even more guilty. 

“This isn’t your fault,” Teldryn said. “Don’t try to make this your fault.”

When Teldryn’s footsteps had faded down the stairs, Nilandur turned onto his side, away from the door. Pulling the fur covers up around his shoulders, he finally allowed himself to weep. 

 

 

* * *

 

Aerik wasn’t hard to find. 

 

Once Teldryn made it out of the city he merely had to follow the crackling sounds of electricity. He jumped the low guard wall after the first portcullis and landed atop an outcropping of low rocks, lowering himself down and jogging out across the plains. A bolt of lightning in the distance briefly illuminated the darkened landscape, as well as the figure who created it. Aerik seemed to be directing most of his frustration at a dead tree, sending chain after chain of electricity, charring the already sizzling trunk and sending bright fissures of light crackling upwards through the dry bark, splitting the branches. Teldryn shielded his eyes from the shower of scorched wood chips as he got closer.

“Do you really think that old tree deserves this kind of treatment?” Teldryn had barely finished the question when another chain of lightning nearly cracked the tree in half. 

“Would you rather it be Ulfric?” Aerik yelled. “Or Nilandur?” He let loose another bolt. 

Teldryn crossed his arms. “Fair point, but could you knock it off for a moment?” With a final, almost half-hearted zap to the tree, Aerik turned around to face him, eyes suspiciously puffy. 

“Everything is fucked.” Aerik laughed, throwing his hands in the air before resting them on his hips and looking up at the sky. “Utterly fucked.”

“We’ll work through this.”

“How?” Aerik wiped viciously at his nose. “How are we going to work through this? Keep our mouths shut? Be complicit? Let him get away with it?” 

“Yes,” Teldryn began. “But…”

“ _ I can’t do that _ , Tel!” Aerik shouted, voice cracking. He dropped into a crouch, bringing his hands up to cover his head. “I can’t do that. I just can’t…”

“Aerik…” Teldryn was at a loss for words as he watched a shudder rip through Aerik’s body, followed by a loud sob. He jogged over, bridging the distance between them, and was on his knees in a heartbeat. 

“Don’t do this to yourself,” Teldryn said, aiming to soothe. “What happened happened and we need to keep moving forward.” 

“Tell that to Balgruuf.” Aerik coughed, rocking back to sit on the ground, kicking his legs out in front of him and letting his shoulders slump. His eyes glistened wetly in the darkness around them. He looked like a lost child - in a way, Teldryn thought, he very much was. 

“How are you fine right now?” Aerik asked after a long pause, shrugging his arms limply, letting his hands clap against his thighs. “How are you holding it together?”

Teldryn sighed, shifting to sit down on the damp ground next to Aerik, crossing his legs. He didn’t speak immediately, took a moment to gather his thoughts as he looked out across the shadowy landscape. A cold breeze blew across the plains, nipping at the tips of his ears.

“I know that sometimes,” he began at last, “it’s easy to forget who I was in my early life. I don’t talk about it. It’s not a point of pride.” Teldryn sighed again, scrubbing his hands along his jaw. “But I was an assassin, Aerik. A  _ legal _ assassin. I’ve lived in the realm of the morally gray for the majority of my life.” He couldn’t look at his husband just then, but Aerik remained silent, breathing steadily.

“I do not condone Ulfric’s decision, not in the slightest. But I also cannot speak from a seat of judgement, lest I denounce myself as the hypocrite that I am.” Another long moment of silence passed between them. “I’m old, Aerik.”   
“I know you are,” Aerik agreed, and that tiniest bit of amusement in his voice lifted an immense weight from Teldryn’s shoulders.   
“My point,” Teldryn continued with a huff, “is that this is not shocking to me. Not even remotely. This is politics - intrigue and treachery and betrayal. Ulfric had a card tucked up his sleeve and he played a winning hand. Unfortunately, we’ve seen the card… or we saw up his sleeve, I suppose.” He ran a hand through his hair, feeling exposed and vulnerable without his full armor. 

“But to expose his trick….” Aerik began. 

“The card tower would crumble.”

“Alright, now you’re mixing metaphors,” Aerik said with a weak, watery laugh. Teldryn turned to him fully, taking his face in his hands. Aerik just looked at him, eyes shining and bright even in the darkness.

“Please.” He ran a thumb across Aerik’s cheek. “Please don’t think less of me.” Aerik grabbed his wrists with a long sigh, nuzzling lightly into the touch. 

“I couldn’t even if I tried.”

Teldryn let Aerik pull him down until they both lay on the slightly damp grass, gazing up at the stars. There was nothing left to say on the matter for the time being. 

“Nilandur is an utter wreck,” Teldryn said after a long moment. 

“Yeah, well, maybe he should suffer for a little bit.” 

“I’m not happy with what he did to us either. But, unless you told him about Mora, he couldn’t have known that it would be… that it would... violate us like that.” 

Aerik huffed, rolling onto his side and draping an arm across Teldryn’s chest. 

“No, I didn’t tell him much about it,” Aerik admitted, pressing his cheek against Teldryn’s shoulder. 

“He’s rightfully chastised, believe me. I think he’s barely holding it together. He needs our kindness more than anything.” 

“That bad, huh?”

“Very.” Teldryn slid his arm around Aerik’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “He spoke to the agent, though. I didn’t ask how. But he said their stories lined up. Nobody was supposed to die.” 

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Aerik argued, and Teldryn squeezed his shoulder. 

“I’m not trying to make you feel better. I’m presenting you with the facts.” 

“And that’s why I love you.” 

Teldryn pulled him in even tighter, pressing his nose to the top of Aerik’s head and inhaling deeply. 

 

“I love you too, Aerik.”

  
  



	21. 16 Accords of Madness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> （´・｀ ）♡ Welcome back!

_Out of the night that covers me,_

_Black as the Pit from pole to pole,_

_I thank whatever gods may be_

_For my unconquerable soul._

 

* * *

 

Teldryn didn’t sleep well that night. Aerik woke once with a start, muttering nonsense, frightened and disoriented, then slept fitfully through the rest of the night with sweat beading along his brow. The pale light of dawn brought relief as much as it did a sense of dread.  Teldryn watched the shadows slowly recede into their corners until he was unable to stand it any longer, then sat up and swung his legs off the bed. He stayed like that for a long moment, staring at his bare feet against the cool floorboards. He glanced over his shoulder at Aerik, who slept curled in on himself, facing the opposite wall. The room was cold in the dim blue twilight of morning, the hairs on Teldryn’s arms prickling in the residual chill. With a heavy sigh, he reached out and brushed a bit of Aerik’s hair away from his face before standing and making his way downstairs.   

 

The hearthfire burned lowly, and Teldryn reached out to bolster it a bit with his magicka, the heat rolling outwards and up to meet him as he descended the stairs. A startled intake of breath came from the kitchen.. Nilandur stood in the far corner, clutching a tea bowl between his hands, dark circles beneath his eyes. He stared at Teldryn like a frightened animal; a rabbit caught in a trap.

“Did you find rest?” Teldryn asked after it became apparent that Nilandur wasn’t going to speak first.

“Ah, yes,” he responded a little too quickly. “You?” 

Teldryn scoffed. “Hardly a wink.” He moved to sit down in one of the chairs by the fire. “Also, you’re allowed to be honest. So I’ll ask again: did you find rest?”

 Nilandur swallowed, walking slowly over to the chair next to Teldryn. He sat down stiffly. 

“Not at all.” He almost laughed. “I mean, I think I slept? It’s hard to tell.” He took a sip of his tea, staring thoughtfully into the flames. “How’s Aerik?” 

Teldryn shrugged. “You’d have to ask him.” 

 

Almost on cue, Teldryn heard the floorboards creak above them, then soft footfalls that stopped at the top of the stairs. Nilandur’s knuckles were white around his tea bowl, shoulders rigid as he continued to stare into the fire. Aerik descended the stairs slowly, sighing  when he reached the bottom step. Nilandur didn’t move an inch. Teldryn wanted to shake the both of them. Instead, he crossed his ankle over his knee and tipped his head back to look at Aerik, who looked just as tired as his father. He walked past Teldryn to stand behind Nilandur’s chair. Tentatively, he reached out and squeezed Nilandur’s shoulder. Nilandur let out a long, shuddering breath, and brought a hand up to place over Aerik’s, returning the squeeze. They stayed like that for a moment before Aerik finally pulled away and went into the kitchen. Teldryn just shook his head with a half-smile - an unspoken apology was good enough for the moment, he supposed.  

 

“I think I need to… go for a walk,” Nilandur said after a long moment, getting to his feet. “Clear my head a bit.”

“Alright,” Aerik agreed, his voice still thick with sleep. “Don’t be gone too long, though, ‘cause I’m about to make breakfast.” Nilandur laughed in response - a tittering, nervous sound. He walked into the kitchen, set his empty tea bowl down on the table, and took Aerik’s face into his hands. Aerik looked a bit shocked and very confused, eyes darting to Teldryn momentarily for support.

“Not that my approval or opinions should matter to you, but I am _so proud_ of you, Aerik.” Nilandur smoothed down Aerik’s sleep-mussed hair. “I’m so proud of everything you stand for. And I’m proud that you’re my son.” Nilandur wrapped him up in a hug and Aerik continued to look lost for a moment, before sliding his arms around Nilandur’s waist and burying his head against his shoulder. Teldryn turned away, looking into the fire and trying very hard not to wonder what it might feel like to have watched his child grow up.

 

Nilandur put his shoes on and quietly stepped out the front door. Aerik remained where he was, staring at the kitchen wall with unfocused eyes. He stayed like that long enough for Teldryn to clear his throat, snapping Aerik’s attention towards him. 

“Are you alright in there?” 

Aerik ran his forearm across his nose roughly. “Yeah, fine. Yeah…” He started bustling through the kitchen. “It’s just… too early. For all that.” Teldryn chuckled, running a hand through his hair before getting to his feet. 

 

A sharp knock at the door caused both of them to freeze, still on edge. Teldryn padded cautiously over to the door, opening it only a sliver to look out. 

“Letter for… Nilandur?” the courier supplied, looking slightly nervous. Teldryn opened the door the rest of the way. 

“He’s just stepped out, but we can give it to him upon his return.” 

The courier was already shaking his head. “No, I’m afraid I have strict orders that this is to be placed in his hands only.”

“Well, what’s to say _I’m_ not Nilandur?” Aerik asked with a tired smirk, walking towards them. The courier looked him up and down with a grimace. 

“The fact that your friend just told me that Nilandur isn’t here, for starters. I’m sorry, do you know where he is? Or when he’ll be back?”

“Why does everyone assume you’re my friend or my bodyguard?” Aerik grumbled, throwing his hands up and walking back towards the kitchen. The courier was just looking between them impatiently. 

“He went on a walk,” Teldryn offered with an exasperated sigh. “Did you want to just wait here until he returns?” 

 

Teldryn had meant it sarcastically, but the courier ended up standing awkwardly in the corner of the room as Aerik and Teldryn set about making breakfast. After a moment it was easy to ignore him, but the burning curiosity of _who_ might be sending Nilandur secret letters was nagging at the back of Teldryn’s mind. After what felt like ages, the door opened again, and a slightly-less-weary-looking Nilandur stepped through, startling as the courier stepped towards him. 

“Is your name Nilandur?” 

Nilandur took a step back, clutching at his chest. “Ah, yes?” 

“Do you have the amulet?” he demanded impatiently. 

“Amulet?” Nilandur’s brow crinkled as he cocked his head to the side. “Amulet,” he repeated, tapping a finger against his sternum. “Oh!” He reached beneath his tunic and pulled out the silver amulet with the black stone in the middle. “This?” The courier exhaled loudly with relief. 

“Thank the Divines. This is for you. I’ve got to go.” He handed the thin envelope over and nearly lunged for the door, letting himself out. 

 

“What in Oblivion was all that about?” Aerik asked, tapping the ladle against the side of the stirring pot before setting it down. 

“I can only assume it’s a letter from Kalatar,” Nilandur replied, breaking the seal. He toyed distractedly with the amulet as he read, eyes skimming the page. 

“He… says he heard the news of the attack and sent a courier as fast as he could. The Thalmor are apparently confused but using the backlash as momentum.” Nilandur looked up, eyebrows knit together. “Momentum for what?”

“Does he not say?” Teldryn pressed, but Aerik was already looking at him with knowing concern. 

“He doesn’t. He just says that he needs to meet with us as soon as possible: ‘You and your son’. Does he know you’re the Dragonborn, Aerik?”

Aerik shrugged. “Not as far as I know, but I think he’d have to be willfully ignorant at this point. Does he say anything else?” 

“No,” Nilandur shook his head, scanning the letter again. “It’s a bit cryptic, but perhaps he was worried about it being intercepted.” 

“He was incredibly paranoid about the Thalmor when we first met him,” Teldryn agreed. “Where does he want to meet?” 

Nilandur cleared his throat. _“I can only hope that by the time you receive this letter I’ll be safely stationed in Ivarstead. Meet me at the Vilemyr Inn with as much haste as you can spare. We are running out of time.”_ Nilandur looked up. “What does he mean, ‘running out of time’?” 

 

Aerik’s mouth was set in a grim line, his jaw tense. The hearthfire popped and Teldryn let out a long sigh. 

“Looks like we’re going to find out.” 

 

///  

 

They passed by the stables on their way out of Whiterun. Teldryn brought Kahn a handful of carrots and took a long moment simply running his hand along her nose as she crunched them loudly. He knew it would be pointless to ride them to Ivarstead, given that it was only half a day’s journey on foot, but he’d missed his horse. He pressed his forehead against hers, sighing deeply. He felt a constant nervousness prickling just beneath his skin - it had started well before the moot. If he had to pinpoint it, it most likely began with the arrival of Vivec’s first dream. His world had shifted rapidly and at such an angle that he went about his daily life feeling mildly seasick. It was as if a veil had been lifted, or he’d peeked through a crack in a wall, though what he saw on the other side remained utterly nonsensical.

 

He patted Kahn’s neck before stepping away and walking out to the main road where Aerik and Nilandur spoke in hushed tones, their traveling cloaks pulled tight around their shoulders. The short summer that Skyrim experienced was already fading, and even though it was still warm, Teldryn felt the chill in his bones like a warning. Aerik looked to him as he approached, smiling half-heartedly. 

“Sorry we’re not taking the horses,” he offered, extending an arm to wrap around Teldryn’s waist.

“I’m sure I’ll manage.” 

“Somehow.” Aerik laughed, a little forced, and leaned in and kissed him. Nilandur averted his eyes, so Teldryn pulled away sooner than he would have liked out of respect.

“Onwards and upwards,” he proclaimed with a smirk, and Aerik winked at him.

 

They set off down the road, easing into a  comfortable silence as they walked. Eventually, though, Aerik began to fill it, telling random tales of whatever his surroundings reminded him of at the moment - encountering the Companions for the first time at Pelagia farm, a dead giant at their feet, or how he’d randomly decided to free a Thalmor prisoner while traveling along the road and was nearly shocked to death by one of the mages. After a while he even managed to get Nilandur to laugh, the mer’s eyes crinkling at the corners and some of the weariness lifting from his shoulders. 

 

Nilandur told stories as well - less emphatically, of course. He spoke of Artaeum, which Teldryn had to admit was fascinating. He described their daily rituals - rising while the moons still shone brightly in the dark sky to gather in the great hall for meditation and spell training; how he had spent most of his time alone in the great library, reading book after book, all the while feeling as though the knowledge was always just beyond his grasp;  of the Ancient Watch and the pact of non-interference, how he saw suffering and ignorance and wanted so badly to intervene. To help.

“So, is that why you left then?” Aerik asked. “Because you couldn’t sit back and watch anymore?” 

“Well...” Nilandur worried the hem of his cloak. “I suppose. I felt incredibly restless there, as though I never truly belonged.” 

“But they summoned you,” Teldryn couldn’t help but point out. “They clearly thought you belonged.” 

“Do you regret leaving?” Aerik continued, and Teldryn almost smacked him upside the head for having such little tact. Nilandur was looking at his feet, mouth downturned and forehead creased.

“Not usually, no,” he replied, almost too softly to be heard over their footfalls. “But… maybe a bit. Now.”                  

 

They lapsed into silence as the woods grew  thick around them, birdsong echoing amidst the rustle of leaves. It was beginning to feel like one more instance of calm before the storm. Teldryn took a deep breath, shifting his pack and looking up at the swaying canopy above them. Vivec had been curiously silent since the moot - no dreams, no riddles, no soft sounds of clinking jewelry. It was putting Teldryn a bit more on edge that he would have liked. He’d thought an end to the taunting would have made him feel better, safer, more sane. Instead he just felt abandoned. 

 

They reached Ivarstead at sundown. Nilandur was growing paler and paler, looking ill as they climbed the Vilemyr Inn’s front steps. 

“Nervous to see your friend?” Aerik asked, aiming for compassionate and landing somewhere closer to condescending. 

“It’s been nearly fifty years since we last spoke,” Nilandur explained. “He wasn’t… _happy_ with me.”

Aerik quirked a brow. “Why?” 

“I believe it was because I chose to stay in Skyrim with your mother, though he never said that outright.” Nilandur fiddled with the amulet. “Hopefully we can allow the past to remain in the past.” 

 

They pushed into the Inn and Teldryn immediately scanned the room for Kalatar, though his memory of the Altmer was a bit hazy. 

“I don’t see him.” Aerik went to the bar, putting on his most charming smile. “Good evening! We’re supposed to be meeting a friend here. You haven’t happened to have checked in an Altmer by the name of Kalatar recently, have you?” 

The Nord behind the bar looked Aerik up and down before glancing back at Teldryn and Nilandur. “I remember you,” he said after a moment. “You and the Dunmer climbed the seven-thousand steps not too long ago.”

Aerik looked back at Teldryn, scratching his neck. “Yep. That’s us. But about that Altmer…”

“We’re refusing service to all Altmer right now. Can’t be too careful in the wake of the attack.” He looked pointedly at Nilandur. “Your friend will have to find lodging elsewhere.” 

 

For once, Aerik was speechless. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, turning to look back at Nilandur, then returning his attention to the innkeeper. His surprise quickly turned to anger, and he slammed his fist down loudly on the counter before pointing a finger at the Nord’s chest.

“Listen, we didn’t hike our asses all the way here to have the nicest one of us told to stay somewhere else, or to find out that his friend, who very well might be in danger, was turned away because you’re a _racist fuck_.”

The Nord recoiled as if he’d been struck, at least looking a bit ashamed. “I… I’m sorry. I have to think of my patrons…” 

“That’s a sorry excuse,” Aerik dismissed, pushing away from the counter. “When did you turn the last Altmer away?” 

“Um…” The man rubbed the back of his neck, his face bright red. “About a day ago?” 

 _“A fucking…”_ Aerik threw his arms up in frustration. He turned back to Teldryn and Nilandur, gesturing around him. “He’s just been wandering around the Rift for a day?” 

“I’m quite sure he’s smarter than that,” Nilandur offered. “Let’s just check outside of town. Perhaps he was able to make camp.” 

Aerik spun to point at the innkeeper one last time. “You should be ashamed. Making the citizens of Skyrim suffer because of your prejudices. You have no honor.” The Nord just stared at him, slack-jawed, but said nothing. Aerik stormed out of the inn, Nilandur and Teldryn trailing in his wake. 

 

“I think you were too hard on him,” Nilandur said once they were outside. Aerik waved him off with a scoff, eyes scanning the scattered citizens that milled through the town.

“Have you seen an Altmer hanging around town?” he asked a  grizzled-looking woman. 

“I think I saw a fellow come through here yesterday. I heard Wilhelm wasn’t letting them stay at the Inn.” 

“So we discovered,” Aerik grumbled. “Did you see where he went?” 

“I did!” A slim Bosmer piped up nearby, looking far too cheery. “I think he was headed for the barrow up that hill there.” 

The woman was shaking her head. “Don’t know what he was thinking. The place is as haunted as it gets.” 

Teldryn turned to look over his shoulder. In the fading light he could barely make out an old Nordic burial tomb, decrepit and crumbling. He sighed. 

 

Candle light flickered dimly around the corner as they made their way into the barrow, the dampness of the place already seeping into Teldryn’s bones. 

“Well, someone’s definitely been here,” Aerik pointed out before throwing his shoulder against the iron door. Water dripped steadily from the ceiling inside the tomb, making the rough wooden planks of the spiral staircase slippery and treacherous. Teldryn and Aerik trudged ahead as Nilandur delicately clung to the thick vines along the walls, taking it one step at a time. 

 

It was just like every other damn Nordic burial tomb Teldryn had found himself in over the years - cold, crumbling, and stinking of death. They crept silently forward until Teldryn saw Aerik drop into a crouch, causing him to do the same almost instinctively. His husband motioned dead ahead to a draugr positioned upright in an alcove, motionless but facing them. They knew not to risk it. Teldryn conjured forth his spectral bow and took aim. His arrow sunk into the center of its chest with a sickening _thunk_ , but the thing remained motionless. He and Aerik straightened up together, and Teldryn checked over his shoulder to see Nilandur looking horrified and confused.

“Stay close,” Teldryn suggested. 

 

The place was heavily trapped, but it appeared as though they had all been triggered or disarmed. 

“Whoever was down here didn’t want anyone to get to them, that’s for sure,” Teldryn commented, stepping around a pressure plate and pointing it out to Nil. 

“Who would want to live in a place like this?” Nilandur asked as he hopped lightly over the plate, stumbling into Teldryn’s back. 

“Watch it!” he snapped automatically, reaching out to help steady the mer enough for him to disentangle his foot from a root. 

“Someone who didn’t want to be found, apparently,” Aerik responded, tapping the ends of his swords against the ground. Finally, they stumbled across the decidedly fresh body of a Dunmer man, dressed in rags and heavily marred by electrical burns. Teldryn sighed, flipping him onto his back with the edge of his boot. 

“I believe this was the previous tenant.” 

 

“Stop right where you are!” 

 

A figure emerged from around the corner, hooded, their hands crackling with electricity. They paused, sizing up the group before dropping their spell charges, stepping into the light and lowering their hood to reveal shoulder-length blond hair and pale golden eyes.

“Oh,” he exclaimed softly.                

 

“Kalatar!” Nilandur rushed forward with a relieved laugh, wrapping his friend up in a tight hug. Kalatar seemed to freeze, eyes wide, hands twitching at his side. Hesitantly he brought his hands up to pat them stiffly against Nilandur’s back.

“We came to find you as soon as we got your letter. It’s been so long, old friend,” Nilandur pulled back, still grasping Kalatar’s shoulders. “I can’t even begin to express how much I’ve missed you.”

“Really?” Kalatar asked, sounding unconvinced.

“Of course.” Nilandur let his hands drop and took an awkward step back. “We… Well, when I last saw you…” 

Kalatar waved him off. “The past is the past. We should focus on the now. Namely, the rising threat that looms ever larger on the horizon.”

“Ah,” Nilandur nodded sheepishly. “Of course.”  

 

The trio followed Kalatar into a small, warm room furnished with a bed roll, a stone desk, a sparsely stocked bookshelf, and an alchemy station.

“I’ve been stuck in this miserable pit since yesterday,” Kalatar spat, nudging a damp log out of the way with the edge of his boot. “Just another way the Thalmor have decidedly made my life more difficult.” 

“The resident ghost turned out to be a hoax, I see,” Teldryn said, nodding to the alchemy station and an obvious bottle of Philter of the Phantom. 

“Yes, quite,” Kalatar sneered. “The Nords here are so thick, though, that I’m hardly surprised they were fooled by such basic, elementary illusions.” Teldryn saw Aerik shift his stance, prepared to speak up, but seem to think better of it. _Let the mer be angry,_ Teldryn thought. He _was_ just denied safe room and board based on his race. 

“This country’s views on magicka  hasn’t changed much since we first arrived here those many years ago, I’m afraid,” Nilandur said with a tight laugh, shuffling to stand a bit closer to the fire. “Though I’ve managed to find quite a few friendly faces, despite the hostilities.”

“Of course you have,” Kalatar mumbled, and there it was again. Bitterness. Teldryn looked to Aerik, who also had his brow furrowed as he watched Kalatar move across the room towards the stone desk. 

“Not to speed along your touching reunion,” Aerik interjected, “but maybe we should get to the matter at hand.” Kalatar’s pale yellow eyes flickered to him in annoyance before softening around the edges.

 

“Yes, of course. I appreciate your haste in finding me here. I couldn’t say much in the letter, of course, but the Thalmor’s efforts have doubled since that… _attack_ , or whatever it was.” Nilandur paled noticeably, but Kalatar didn’t seem to notice. “I’ve been following them and their plans as best I could over the past few months, essentially right after I heard that you were traveling among them.” He turned to  Nilandur. “At first I thought that maybe you’d joined them, but that would have been wildly out of character for you.” He spread his hands out across the desk, leaning against it. “Imagine my surprise when I found out that you were their prisoner. Not only that, but that you were a Psijic monk.” Kalatar laughed and it sounded forced. 

“...Ex-monk…” Nilandur corrected softly. 

“Quite,” Kalatar clipped. “But it got me wondering - what would the Thalmor want with a Psijic?” He paused, regarding Nilandur with a downsweeping glance. “ _Ex-Psijic._ ” 

“We’ve been trying to figure out the same thing,” Aerik added, strolling over to stand on the opposite side of the desk, arms crossed defensively, blocking Kalatar’s view of Nilandur. “But I’m interested to hear your theories.”  

“Good,” Kalatar nodded curtly, grabbing one of several journals he had stacked on the desk in front of him. “Because I have several.”  

 

“Firstly, if the stories are correct, the Psijics were the ones to intervene at the College of Winterhold when the Eye of Magnus was discovered. This is already a strike against them with the Thalmor. Not to mention the sting of discovering a source of such intense, raw magicka, only to have it taken away by a group with _just as much power_ …” Kalatar shook his head, smiling and laughing to himself. “I’m sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself here. I’m operating under the assumption that you have any idea what I’m talking about.” He looked at their group expectantly as he thumbed through his journal.

Aerik shrugged. “From what we know, the Thalmor are working to deactivate the Snow Tower and attain divinity by unraveling reality, starting with the elimination of the races of men.”

 

A beat of silence passed through the room and the fire let out a fizzing, hissing pop. Kalatar’s mouth hung open in shock, eyes wide. Teldryn couldn’t help himself and let out of a bark of a laugh before covering his mouth with his hand. 

“Sorry, sorry…” he offered without actually feeling all that sorry. 

“Yeah, we’ve been doing a lot of research.” Aerik smirked.

“...Quite,” Kalatar said softly before clearing his throat and straightening back up. “Well, it appears I don’t have to fill you in on much, though that’s most certainly an oversimplification.” Aerik rolled his eyes, turning his back to Kalatar and walking to stand beside Teldryn, mouthing _‘prick’_. Teldryn chuckled. 

 

“As I was saying.” Kalatar held his journal up again. “The Psijics presented a source of magicka that was almost as strong as, if not stronger than, the Eye of Magnus. So, when word got out that a monk was leaving the island they were quick to seize the opportunity.”      

“They barely got a chance to ask me anything,” Nilandur said. “Aerik and Teldryn found me not three days after we’d crossed the border into Skyrim, thanks to you. You quite possibly saved my life.” 

“Yes, yes,” Kalatar waved away Nilandur’s comment, causing him to deflate even more. “And of course, I hear tell that the great and terrible _Dragonborn_ attacked Northwatch Keep…” He turned to Aerik, a smirk on his lips. “Such a grand surprise - Nilandur’s son, the one  he didn’t even know he had, turns out to be the Dragonborn. Of all people.”

 

“What’s your angle?” Aerik asked impatiently. Kalatar’s smile dropped from his face.

“I beg your pardon?”    

“Well, for starters, you’re being an asshole,” Aerik pointed out, cocking his head and putting a hand on his hip. Teldryn had to turn away, lest he laugh directly into Kalatar’s face. “We packed up and left pretty much immediately after getting your damn letter, trying to get here as quickly as possible, despite having had barely any sleep the night before. In case you weren’t aware.” 

“Yes, and I said I was thankful–”  
“Secondly,” Aerik continued, “do you and Nil need to kiss and make up or something? What’s with all the hostility?” 

Kalatar just blinked at Aerik with a confused, if not slightly horrified, expression. Nilandur looked like he wanted to disappear.

“Aerik, please,” he said softly. “I know you mean well…”

“No, I wanna know why this guy is being so rude to you.” He looked at Kalatar expectantly. “So out with it. Then we can all move on.”

 

Kalatar’s nostrils flared. “I can assure you that there is no _angle_. Forgive me for not being warm and welcoming towards someone I haven’t seen in nearly half a century years.” 

“Weak apology,” Aerik scoffed.

“Aerik, _enough_ ,” Nilandur finally snapped. “Please, just let it go.” He turned back to Kalatar, ignoring the concerned looks from his son. “Continue. About why the Thalmor might want a Psijic… please.”

Kalatar regarded him with a raised brow. “Yes, well, it appears you’ve managed to get the same inside information I have - they want to deactivate one of the last standing towers of Mundus - it’s the whole reason for weaseling their way into Skyrim to begin with. It’s also why they have such an expressed interest in Valenwood and Hammerfell. The Dominion is moving in a pattern that is completely determined by the Thalmor’s whims at this point.” 

 

“So, you only know as much as we do?” Aerik pressed. “We’re at another dead end?”  

“On the contrary,” Kalatar sneered. “My intel has informed me that the Thalmor believe they’ve found the entrance to this so-called ‘cave’ and are planning to open it _without_ the aid of the Psijic. Which means they’ve probably found some other way…” 

“They found the entrance? But how?” Aerik looked at Teldryn. “Paarthurnax wouldn’t even admit that the cave was an actual, physical place.”

“They only believe they’ve found it,” Teldryn pointed out. “Could be nothing at all.” 

“Or it could mean our time is up,” Aerik countered. He pointed a finger at Kalatar. “What else did your… _intel_ say? Can they take us to the cave?”

“They cannot.” Kalatar closed his journal with a snap. “But I can.” 

“You?” Aerik laughed. “When we first met you you were practically soiling yourself out of fear for the Thalmor. What changed?” 

Kalatar bristled, letting his journal fall heavily against the desk. “My will to live, perhaps? And I could hardly be as comfortable speaking of the Thalmor in public as I can in this… musty old tomb. The dead keep their secrets, at least.” 

 

“You’d really take us?” Nilandur asked from across the room, drawing Kalatar’s attention to him. “You would be risking your life by doing such a thing.” 

“So would you,” Kalatar pointed out, tone slightly softer. “I at least have to try.” 

Aerik clapped his hands together loudly, startling both of the Altmer.

“So!” He grinned. “To the cave then?” 

“Sleep first.” Kalatar scowled at him. “We need to have our wits about us, and you said it yourself - you’re all sleep deprived. I can tell.” Aerik looked like he was about to protest, but Teldryn put a firm hand on his elbow, pulling him off to the side to unpack their bedrolls. The poor dead man’s study made a good enough camp for the four of them. Teldryn urged the hearthfire back to life with a wave of his hand, setting some potatoes on the stone in front of it to cook before beginning to polish his armor. Kalatar watched him curiously, but said nothing. Nilandur just stared into the flames, unfocused, with deep circles beneath his eyes. Aerik had plucked one of the slightly moldy books from the shelf and was skimming it as he stretched out across his bedroll, munching loudly on an apple. 

  
“Hey Nil, what’s your birthsign?” he asked without looking up. Teldryn glanced over to see that Aerik’s book of choice was _The Firmament_ and let out a small amused huff. 

“Ah, it’s The Lady,” Nil answered with a sheepish smile, turning away from the fire to face him. “I’ve always found it to be an incredibly agreeable sign to be born under.” He paused, worrying the hem of his robe. “I can’t believe I’ve never thought to ask what yours is.”

“The Warrior,” Aerik replied almost distantly. “And Tel is The Thief.” 

Nilandur looked to Teldryn with a raised brow. He simply shrugged in response, continuing to shine his armor. 

“According to my sign I should have had a much shorter life than I have,” he chuckled. “So it’s another one of those philosophies I take with a grain of salt.”

“Except you do seem to have quite a good deal of luck. You’re also incredibly stealthy” Nilandur pointed out. This caught Teldryn by surprise. He looked up from his armor. 

“You think so?”

“I do.” Nilandur nodded with a smile. “It’s most certainly a gift.”  

 

“We should sleep,” Kalatar urged from his bedroll across the room; he was pressed up against the wall near the alchemy station. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Aerik waved a hand over his shoulder but closed the book regardless. “Somebody wants their beauty rest.” He shot Teldryn a wink before crawling over towards him on his hands and knees to place a kiss against his lips. “Slide into my bedroll once you’re all done, yeah?” 

“Of course,” Teldryn rumbled, allowing Aerik to give him one last lingering kiss before returning to his polishing. He felt Kalatar’s eyes on them but didn’t give the mer the satisfaction of acknowledgement. 

 

As everyone settled in and began to drift off, Teldryn quietly continued tending to his armor, left alone with his thoughts. _The Cave_. So the Thalmor had found it, then? Or believed they had. He glanced over at Kalatar’s turned back; the mer’s side rose and fell steadily, pale, golden hair splayed out across his bedroll. Teldryn couldn’t tell if it was simply the cynicism with came with age, or if he really had lost his ability to trust anyone. The Altmer rubbed him the wrong way, and not simply due to his haughtiness. He was hiding something. It was all too convenient, and if Teldryn had learned anything over the years, it was never to trust anything that seemed too easy. 

 

He held his breastplate up to the light, inspecting its finish. He’d have to find a decent blacksmith once this was all said and done - his beloved ebony armor was collecting more dings and scratches than he would prefer and working with the material was well beyond his scope of knowledge. Perhaps that blacksmith they’d met in Markarth could…

 

The familiar sound of jingling bangles jolted him from his thoughts, and he snapped his gaze to the open door. _Oh no_ , Teldryn thought defiantly. _Not tonight._ He set his armor to the side and made motions to climb into Aerik’s bedroll, when suddenly, behind the large stone desk, the wall began to move. Teldryn froze. The stone shifted inwards and slid into the ground revealing a carved stone passageway, shadows dancing across the rough walls from low torchlight. 

 

It wasn’t an invitation so much as a demand. 

 

Teldryn sighed and looked down at Aerik, who continued to sleep peacefully despite the grinding of the stone door not moments ago. He brushed some hair out of his husband’s face, leaning down to place a kiss on his temple before standing and walking towards the open passageway. He glanced at an orcish dagger that lay on the desk, gleaming in the firelight, but knew it wouldn’t be of any use to him. Instead, he ducked into the passage and tried not to feel trapped when the stone door slid back into place behind him. 

 

The stone was cold beneath his bare feet, making his knees ache, but Teldryn pressed forward. Soon, the stone texture began to change, becoming softer, and he glanced down to see carpet beneath his feet. It was finely woven and intricate, and he paused, bending forward to feel it with his fingers. As he looked back up, a massive set of stairs appeared before him, disappearing out of his line of sight. With a weary sigh, he began to ascend them, cursing Vivec and his love of pageantry. The rough-hewn rock of the passageway soon gave way to smooth stone, achingly familiar in its texture and smell. _Morrowind._ It made Teldryn’s chest constrict with nostalgia and longing - he’d only been to Vivec City a handful of times before it was destroyed, and mostly when he was quite small, but the architecture was unmistakable. As he climbed the last few stairs, the view was exactly what he expected. 

 

“I suppose you don’t need sleep, but us mortals rather enjoy it,” Teldryn drawled, crossing his arms and shifting his weight onto one leg. Vivec smiled, though his eyes remained closed. He hovered cross-legged in the center of the rounded room, three sconces burning at each corner of the stone triangle over which he meditated.

“Your trial approaches,” he said after a long moment’s pause, opening his mismatched eyes to look at Teldryn.

“Yes, yes,” Teldryn waved his hand impatiently. “The Cave. I can hardly wait.” Vivec laughed, a rich and oddly joyous sound, letting his legs fall beneath him to stand. He stepped off of the stone triangle and strode forward.

“Come,” he said, striding past Teldryn on impossibly long legs. “We have one final thing to discuss.”

 

Teldryn spun to follow him, unsurprised to find the stairs had disappeared in favor of a rounded wooden door. Vivec pushed it open, stepping out onto an arch-covered balcony. Vivec City teemed with life far below them even in the dark of the night - something from hundreds of years ago, before the Red Year, before it was reduced to  a scar on the face of Nirn. Teldryn breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the rich, humid air of his home country. Tears prickled threateningly in the corners of his eyes. 

“You miss it,” Vivec said, looking out across the landscape. 

“Of course I do.”

“Why not return, then?”  
Teldryn scoffed. “Return to what? Ghosts? Shadows? No, I’d rather not.” The distant cry of a silt strider rippled through the air,  melancholic. Vivec turned to face him then, his expression grave.

“There is no going back, you know. Once you _see_. Not to Morrowind. Not to Skyrim. Not anywhere.” 

“Riddles,” Teldryn huffed. “Are you saying I have an option?” 

“Not if you want the world to remain as it is. As it might be.”

“You’ve still never told me, by the way.”  
“Told you what, Teldryn Sero?”

“Why me.” Teldryn sighed, stepping up to lean against the balcony’s railing. “Why not Aerik? He’s the Dragonborn. Or his father, even. A wayward Psijic. I’m just so… _uninteresting_.” Tiny silhouettes meandered across the bridges far below,  and on either side distant street lamps reflected off the water’s surface, dancing like starlight.

“It is not modesty that will save you at the end of the day,” Vivec chuckled, curling his long fingers around the railing. “It is your Will.” 

Teldryn shifted to face him. “My will?”

“Indeed.” Vivec nodded, their eyes meeting. “And yours is already quite strong. You claim yourself to be uninteresting, but you know that to be false.” 

 

Teldryn wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he said nothing, choosing instead to look back out across Vivec City. Silt striders continued to call out to one another, long, echoing bellows across the water in the glittering darkness of the night. 

“You’re not planning on murdering me, are you?” he asked after a long moment. 

“Teldryn, you wound me.” Vivec sighed dramatically, pushing off the railing with a loud sniff. “To bring up such dreadful memories.”

“That wasn’t exactly a ‘no’…”

 

Vivec grinned a feline grin, pulling Teldryn flush against his chest. “Heroes who die are always reborn.”

“That…” Teldryn felt breathless, his heart fluttering as Vivec gently stroked his hair. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Would you rather yourself remain a hostage, or are you prepared to carve your own door to freedom?” 

Teldryn swallowed thickly, his head bent back at an angle. “Freedom always has a cost.”

“Naturally,” Vivec purred, dipping lower. “A sword is nothing without a victim into which it might cleave.”   
“Am I the sword or the victim?” 

“You are both.” Vivec’s lips moved against Teldryn’s as he spoke. “Pull the sword from your heart and rend this cloven duality asunder.”

 

Teldryn gasped awake, sitting bolt upright in his and Aerik’s sleeping roll. Aerik grumbled beside him.

“Tel…” he murmured sleepily, sounding annoyed. Teldryn swiveled around to look at the wall behind the desk - solid, unmoved. He cursed under his breath, settling back down and throwing an arm around Aerik’s waist to pull his husband closer. The hearthfire had almost completely died, leaving the room cold. Teldryn flicked his eyes to it and it crackled back to life, heat rolling across his feet. He sighed against Aerik’s chest, forcing his eyes to close. 

 

Whatever tomorrow promised, he once again felt entirely unprepared. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting closer and closer, good people. To what, you may ask? Great question. Teldryn also wants to know the answer to that.


	22. Darkest Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you [raunchyandpaunchy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy) for the amazing beta job!

_In the fell clutch of circumstance_

_I have not winced nor cried aloud._

_Under the bludgeonings of chance_

_My head is bloody, but unbowed._

 

* * *

 

 

The fresh light of dawn edged its way across the land as the party emerged from Shroud Hearth Barrow. The air was crisp and cool as Hearthfire fast approached, the chill of the night clinging to the shadows. The group made their way through the town and across the bridge that lead to the seven-thousand steps. The roar of the water seemed unnaturally loud beneath them, and droplets of water clung to Teldryn’s armor as they crossed through the mist. 

“There’s a bear up ahead,” Kalatar pointed out, and so there was - a massive thing, still asleep by the looks of it. 

“I really don’t want to fight a bear this early in the morning,” Aerik groaned. He looked behind him to Teldryn. “Maybe we can take a leaf from Ulle’s book and calm it?” 

Teldryn scoffed. “Calm is not my specialty, but we can certainly try.”

“Don’t worry.” Aerik flashed a grin. “I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve.” 

 

Aerik crept forward across the steep bank, Nilandur trailing behind him at a safe distance, magicka pulsing around his forearms. The bear remained asleep for the moment, letting out long, steaming breaths that curled in wisps across the shadowy ground. Aerik righted himself and took a tremendous inhale - the bear startled awake. 

 

_ “KAAN… DREM OV.” _

 

For a Shout, it felt pleasant, almost melodic, like a lullaby. Despite not being the intended recipient, Teldryn still felt a bit of worry ease from his mind as the words echoed off the sharp rockface; soft, yet audible over the crash of the falls. The bear pushed to its feet, staring at Aerik with soft, docile eyes, unmoving. 

“Easy, old girl,” Aerik murmured, taking a step forward with his hands outstretched, palms up. “Or old boy… I don’t know what you prefer and I’ve no way to ask.” He laughed as his hand made contact with the bear’s massive head, petting it gently between its ears. Nilandur had walked forward and was standing just behind his son, smiling. With a wave of his hand, shimmering green magicka pushed towards the creature like a rolling wave, and the bear’s attention turned to Nilandur as it washed over it.

“Go have a sleep in your cave, my dear,” he suggested gently. The bear let out a huff, vocalizing softly, steam from its hot breath curling around its muzzle. Slowly, it turned and wandered back up the hill and disappeared into the mouth of the cave. Teldryn let out a long sigh, hoping that the rest of their encounters today might go as smoothly as that one. 

 

Aerik’s smile was a bit wary, but Nilandur didn’t seem to notice. He reached out and touched Aerik’s face gently, saying something that Teldryn couldn’t hear. Aerik just shrugged in response, his smile turning lopsided and more genuine. He stepped away and looked to Teldryn and Kalatar. 

 

“All clear!”

 

\---

 

Kalatar lead them around the mountain, the terrain turning rocky and sharp. Teldryn nearly slipped several times on the mud-slick rocks as they edged their way around the Throat of the World. Every so often he would look up the steep mountain face and think distantly about the dragon that lived at its peak and the information he’d given them. He could hardly believe that they were actually going to see this so-called “Cave” - Paarthurnax made it seem like more of a concept than a place. Teldryn eyed the back of Kalatar’s head in front of them. Nilandur seemed to trust him, but then again the mer tended to be a bit too trusting at times. He pushed thoughts of Ulfric out of his mind before they had time to fester - all of Skyrim saw the man as both a hero and a victim. His plan had succeeded, the country united under a common foe, and Teldryn was more than happy to let it remain that way. 

 

“Just up ahead,” Kalatar called out over the roar of the water. “We’ll have to pass through the waterfall.” 

“Great. Nothing quite like a cold shower…” Aerik grumbled as they waded into the center of the river. Nilandur stepped forward, gathering magicka as if it were a dance, swirling his arms around his body. He lifted his hands above his head and the waterfall parted, leaving a space for the four of them to pass through. 

“Hey, that’s a neat trick!” Aerik grinned, nudging Nil gently with his elbow as he passed. Nilandur laughed softly, continuing to hold the magicka in place. Sure enough, just past the falling water there was a passageway that led into the mountainside. Nilandur released the water once they were all inside and it crashed loudly against the rocks, kicking up a spray. 

“Stay close,” Kalatar suggested, taking the lead as he cast mage light. “There’s a door up ahead. I haven’t been farther than this, so I have no way of knowing what dangers might await.” 

“Whatever it is, we’re ready,” Aerik said with a wolfish smile. Teldryn was thankful for his husband’s bravado, false or otherwise. 

 

The pale blue light of Kalatar’s spell glimmered off the wet rocks, their scattered footfalls echoing off the narrow walls of the passage. Nobody spoke, the air already thick with old magic. Sure enough, just up ahead was an old, wooden door, so ordinary that it felt jarring.  

“Huh,” Aerik said, breaking the silence. “I expected something a bit more… grandiose.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Teldryn murmured, the hair on the back of his neck beginning to rise. The door felt wrong, as if it had no business being there - as if  _ they _ had no business seeing it.

“Well, I’ll go in first if nobody else wants to,” Aerik offered after a moment’s pause. Kalatar’s mage light blinked out and he quickly cast another one. 

“Be my guest,” the Altmer replied with a sweeping gesture. Aerik stepped up and Teldryn quickly followed him, wanting to stay as close to his husband as he could. Grabbing the rusted metal handle, Aerik pulled and the door swung open easily.

 

A cold draft rushed out to greet them, smelling of ancient clay and firmament, the kind of dampness that seeps into the bones. Teldryn shivered. The passage beyond the door was entirely different than the one through which they’d just passed - the walls were smoother, ridged, and it reminded Teldryn of a massive throat. He swallowed, his stomach twisting with nervous anticipation as he looked to Aerik. His husband’s brow was furrowed, one hand still on the door as he met Teldryn’s gaze. They spoke to each other through their eyes, silent agreements, small encouragements.  _ This was it. No turning back now. _

 

Aerik stepped in first, followed by Teldryn. Nilandur fell into step after him, Kalatar bringing up the rear. Aerik cast a mage light of his own; it hovered just over his head, reflecting off his hair. It was deadly silent, save for the muffled sound of their scattered steps. The passage sloped down ever so slightly, going even deeper into the mountain, and once again Teldryn felt a crushing claustrophobia begin to set in. He hadn’t experienced it this badly since they’d made their way through Miraak’s temple years ago, but somehow this felt worse. Far worse. Whatever they’d found themselves in was not made by man or mer or beast. Something entirely beyond their imaginings had crafted this–something massive and alien. He prayed silently to Azura for guidance, but felt no comfort in return. 

 

They were alone down here. 

 

After what felt like an hour, the passage finally began to flatten out and widen, the ridges smoothing into something less throat-like and more like an intentionally carved hall. The warm light of flickering fire danced across the walls from around a bend. 

“Why would there be fire down here?” Aerik mused aloud, his voice sounding strange after having been silent for so long. He turned to Kalatar. “You’re positive that the Thalmor aren’t already here?” 

“I am not positive, no,” Kalatar responded, and the fearful mer they’d met those many months ago in Riften finally reappeared. His eyes were wide and his face pale, dampness gathering along his hairline. Nilandur stepped forward, already pulling magicka towards him. He inhaled sharply, stuttering in his movements. 

“The Weave,” he whispered. “It’s different here. It feels like…” He put his hands out in front of him, plucking at the air as if it were made of harp strings. “...like touching an open wound. It’s sharp.  _ Raw. _ ” 

 

With what appeared to be great concentration, he continued his movements and a rippling wave of red-tinged magicka washed over them, spilling across the floors of the cave and circling around the bend. Teldryn’s ears popped, the tell-tale feeling of a Muffle spell, and Aerik nodded once before pulling his swords from his back and creeping carefully forward. Teldyn unsheathed his own sword and fell into step. 

 

As they rounded the bend, Teldryn felt immediately disoriented by what he saw. It was a longhall type room, almost Nordic in its construction, but not quite. It’s walls were intricately carved with scenes of battles, monsters, aedra and daedra, warriors and mages, all the way up to the arch of the barrel-vaulted ceiling. It was breathtaking. The room was thick with energy, as if it were lined with dozens of warm, breathing bodies packed into a tight space, but he saw no one. At the end was a large circular door, similar to the countless dragon doors he’d seen throughout Skyrim. This one, though, had no place for a key. Instead, in its center was the carved image of a dragon eating its tail. 

 

Aerik stepped forward, sheathing his weapons. His eyes were focused above the door, where a scrawling passage written in the dragon’s language was carved into the smooth stone. 

 

_ “Zeim dinok hi hahnu. Zeim hahnu hi lahney. Fin zul bex. Wah tinvaak los wah zorox.” _

 

It has been so long since Teldryn had heard Aerik speak the dragon tongue that it caused a primitive ripple of nervousness down his spine. 

“What does it mean?” Nilandur asked tentatively. Aerik took a deep breath. 

“Roughly?” He stared at it again for a long moment. “Through death you dream, through dreaming you live, the voice opens, to speak is to create.” 

“So you have to use a shout to open the cave?” Kalatar pressed, stepping forward excitedly. Aerik just shook his head. 

“No, it says  _ zul _ , not  _ thu’um _ …” he corrected, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Though I do suppose…”

 

Aerik wasn’t able to finish his sentence as Nilandur let out a startled cry, stumbling backwards as if pulled. Teldryn felt a tug around his shoulders and waist, falling backwards as well, losing his grip on his sword. Something sharp pressed against his throat and into the small of his back and he felt someone’s breath against his neck, hot and sour. 

 

All at once the room shimmered to life - dozens of Thalmor agents lining the walls, their invisibility spells sliding from them like water. Two agents held Nilandur at bay with a dagger against his neck, while Teldryn had two of his own, one pressing a blade into his throat, the other holding something equally sharp at the base of his spine. Aerik let out an angry roar, unsheathing his swords once again.

 

“Dragonborn.” 

 

From the entrance of the longhall a single agent strode forward, hands clasped behind their back, hood drawn low over their face. Once they were closer, the agent lowered their hood, long blonde hair glimmering in the low light of the sconces. It was Ondolemar. 

“How pleasant to see you again.” His smile was sharp, unkind. “Though this time I have more of a choice in the matter.”

“If you hurt either of them none of you will leave here alive,” Aerik threatened, his entire body tensed, ready to spring into action. 

“Well that depends entirely upon how cooperative you plan to be.” His gaze flickered to Kalatar who cowered against the far wall. “You’ve played your part well. You can consider your record expunged in the eyes of the Dominion.” 

“You  _ motherfucker _ !” Aerik bellowed at Kalatar, spittle flying from his lips. “You bottom-feeding piece of  _ shit _ ! You set us up? After everything!?”

“I had to!” Kalatar cried, backing away towards the exit. “I… I had to…”

“Kalatar…” Nilandur whimpered. “Old friend?” Kalatar just shook his head, still retreating towards the way they’d come. 

“I’m sorry. I had to…” 

 

“Yes, the sting of betrayal. How terrible,” Ondolemar drawled, tucking a strand of hair primly behind one of his long ears. “As I said, Dragonborn, you and your friends will be let go unharmed  _ if _ , and only if, you cooperate.” 

“Eat shit and die,” Aerik spat. Teldryn felt the knife at his throat press in a bit harder, the sharpness at his low back sliding between the plates of his armor, and he let out an involuntary grunt. Nilandur also cried out and Teldryn could see a small trickle of blood slide down his neck where the knife had cut into his skin. 

“Stop!” Aerik yelled, dropping his swords. “Stop, please…” He locked eyes with Teldryn, terror written plainly across his features. Teldryn wanted to shake his head, wanted to tell Aerik that it wasn’t worth it, that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. The knife bit into his skin and the agents at his back held him too tightly, the crackle of a shock spell uncomfortably close to his head. He was forced to simply watch.

 

“What do you want?” Aerik asked, his voice shaking, his palms facing down towards the ground in a sign of surrender. 

Ondolemar smiled. “Open the door.”

“I don’t know how.”

 

Teldryn felt the knives encroach upon him even further, pressing into his spine, slicing the thin skin of his neck, and he gasped. 

“I don’t know!” Aerik repeated frantically, stooping to one knee. “Believe me! I don’t… I… please.”

“Well aren’t you even going to try?” Ondolemar asked, sounding bored. Aerik’s chest was heaving, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly as he breathed. With his palms still facing the ground he rose to his feet, turning slowly towards the massive stone door. He looked at Teldryn one last time, eyes wide, fearful. He straightened up, lifting his chin and closing his eyes, inhaling. 

 

_ “BEX!” _

 

The shout reverberated off the stone walls, ringing through Teldryn’s ears, making him wince. The door remained shut. Aerik looked around nervously, taking a stumbling step backwards.

 

_ “MIIRAAD BEX!” _ He tried again, and Teldryn heard the faintest crack in his voice, his Thu’um faltering. The door still remained shut. 

 

“How disappointing,” Ondolemar sighed. He looked to Nilandur. “Psijic. It’s your turn.” Electrical energy crackled even closer to Teldryn’s head, the knives digging deeper into him. 

“If you want your little Dunmer to survive, I suggest you find a way to open the door.” 

 

Teldryn snarled defiantly, but the knife at his throat bit into his skin and he felt a hot trickle of blood run down his neck, gathering in the dip between his collarbones. Nilandur was released from the Thalmor’s grip and shoved forward towards Aerik. He wiped at his throat, wincing at the thin gash before straightening up. Aerik’s eyes remained locked on Teldryn as he breathed heavily through his nose and Teldryn could see his mind turning, calculating the situation, trying to find an opening. Swallowing audibly, Nilandur began to draw magicka around him. Energy gathered around his arms as sweat trickled down the side of his face, his entire body swirling and stepping in a calculated pattern. When he released the energy it washed across the surface of the door in a vibrant flash of color and light, blinding and beautiful, and Teldryn  _ felt _ the rawness that Nilandur had described.  

 

The door remained closed. 

 

“Ah,” Ondolemar exhaled, looking between Aerik and Nilandur. “I really had expected more of you.” He looked over to Teldryn before giving a jerking nod. White hot pain burst forth at the base of his spine and Teldryn screamed. His cries were cut off as the dagger at his throat split the skin and tissue, his own voice turning into a wet, squelching gurgle. Distantly, Teldryn saw an agent step up behind Nilandur and grab him by the back of his neck, the white hot electricity of a shock spell pulsing directly into his head. Aerik was screaming, lightening erupting from his body as multiple agents descended upon him, swords and spells at the ready. 

 

Teldryn fell to his knees, unable to feel the lower half of his body, clutching at his throat. His own magicka pulsed weakly in his palms as he collapsed onto his side. He watched helplessly as Aerik fought off more Thalmor agents than he could possibly handle, fueled by rage and pain. Teldryn tried to speak, but he simply sputtered, his throat shredded, mouth filling with the coppery taste of his own blood. His face and limbs were growing cold, the edges of his vision darkening.

 

All at once, time seemed to slow down. The Thalmor agents’ movements lagged as if moving through water, the crackle of Aerik’s lightning cloak flashing slower than a flickering torchbug. Nilandur’s lifeless eyes stared at Teldryn from across the floor, unblinking, his white-blonde hair matted with blood. Everything ground to a halt, freezing completely. Teldryn grunted, confused, unable to move. 

 

Two bare feet descended into Teldryn’s line of sight, planting themselves softly, soundlessly, onto the stone floor, one golden, one gray. Vivec stooped down further, bending to one knee and looking Teldryn in the eyes, expression grave. 

 

“I’m only going to show you how to do this once,” he said, his voice sounding far away, almost hollow. “Then the rest is up to you, sweet Nerevar.” 

 

_ What? _ Teldryn grunted again, his vision unfocused. Vivec held up a hand, pressing his long slender fingers together, thumb against middle. 

 

And snapped. 

 

\---

 

Blackness. 

 

Teldryn gasped into the darkness that surrounded him, disoriented and panicked. He looked down, expecting to see his body, but saw only a black expanse–an abyss that stretched on endlessly. Slowly, small tendrils of smoke began to curl in the bottom of his vision, drifting lazily upwards; scentless, heatless. Before he had time to figure out where the smoke was coming from, the blackness dissolved around him, giving way to a scene. 

 

He returned to his body, the ground materializing below his feet, and he almost felt as if he’d fallen from a short height, his knees buckling slightly beneath him. 

“Why would there be fire down here?” Aerik mused aloud. He turned to Kalatar. “You’re positive that the Thalmor aren’t already here?” 

“I am not positive, no,” Kalatar responded. 

 

Teldryn looked rapidly between the two of them. What on Nirn had just happened? He watched Nilandur step forward again, beginning to gather magicka and gasping - just as he’d done before. 

“The Weave,” he whispered. “It’s different here. It feels like…” He put his hands out in front of him, plucking at the air as if it were made of harp strings. “...like touching an open wound. It’s sharp.  _ Raw. _ ” He began moving to cast his spell.

“Wait,” Teldryn interjected, his voice sharp and cutting. He looked at Aerik, eyes softening, just taking him in for a moment - this noble, gorgeous creature. The man he’d fallen in love with, chosen to call husband. Teldryn strode forward and planted a firm kiss on his lips. Aerik made a small, shocked sound, but gladly melted against him. 

Teldryn pulled back, leaning in to whisper into Aerik’s ear.  _ “Oshun adur bahr alne’khier.”  We are not alone. _ Aerik’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Good, he understood. 

“You’re certain?” 

“I am.” 

_ “Ku’or?” _

_ “Moljuhn.” _

“Excuse me,” Kalatar interrupted, his expression pinched. “What’s wrong? Why… what are you saying to each other?” 

Aerik looked back to Teldryn.  _ “Edur oas?” _ Teldryn just nodded. 

 

Aerik let out a huff, running a hand across his face, smoothing his hair back. He looked at Teldryn again, curiously. Teldryn just shrugged. 

“If I explained it to you, you’d think me insane.” 

“You don’t have to explain anything, darling,” Aerik grinned, kissing Teldryn one last time before the smile slid from his face. He strode over to Kalatar and punched the mer squarely in the jaw. Kalatar fell backwards to the floor and Nilandur let out a startled cry, trying to run to his friend’s side. Teldryn intercepted him, holding him back.

“Aerik! What on Nirn!? What’s come over you?” 

“I think Kalatar has a little bit of explaining to do,” Aerik said, shaking his hand out and cracking his knuckles. “Right, friend?” Kalatar held his jaw tenderly, looking up at Aerik with wide, frightened eyes. 

“I… I assure you I have no idea…” He was cut off as Aerik stepped forward and punched him again, his head slamming into the ground. He scrambled backwards, blood oozing steadily from his nose, magicka crackling in his right hand. 

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Aerik warned darkly. “Not if you want to survive this.”

“You’re insane!” Kalatar spat, though his magicka dissolved.

 

“Aerik, explain yourself at once!” Nilandur wrenched himself free from Teldryn’s grasp, jogging towards Kalatar with healing light already pulsing in his palms.

“He was leading us into a trap,” Teldryn said, crossing his arms and fixing Kalatar with a dark stare. “An ambush. Isn’t that right?” 

Kalatar’s face went pale. “How…?” Nilandur faltered in his step and Aerik let out a soft chuckle.

“Gods, I bet you’re terrible at cards,” Aerik grinned, his expression a bit manic. He turned to Teldryn. “So what were we about to walk into?”

“A room full of Thalmor agents. A dozen, if not more. Invisible.”

“But…” Kalatar sputtered, staring at Teldryn with wide eyes, beginning to edge backwards once again. “How? How could you have possibly known?” Aerik strode forward and punched Kalatar in the face again, laying him out flat. 

“Aerik, that’s enough!” Nilandur demanded. 

“Actually, I don’t think it is!” He whirled on his father. “You have a bad habit of putting your trust in people who don’t deserve it. And now you’re gonna just stand there and…” 

 

The look on Nilandur’s face was enough to cause Aerik’s jaw to snap shut. Fury, plain and simple. It didn’t last long, as Nilandur’s rage morphed into anguish, then into something neutral. He strode calmly over to Kalatar, who was pushing back up into a sitting position, his eyebrow now split and bleeding as well. Nilandur lowered himself down onto his knees, sitting back on his heels and staring at his hands for a long moment.

“Why?” he asked softly, almost too quiet for Teldryn to hear. Kalatar was breathing heavily, looking at Nilandur with undisguised hatred. 

“Because they promised to wipe my record clean,” he said after a long minute. “They promised me safety from whatever was to come.”

“You were my best friend,” Nilandur whispered. 

“Was I?” Kalatar laughed bitterly. “You  _ abandoned _ me for that Nord woman, left me to return home by myself. Then you abandoned her! Disappeared for almost forty years. Because the Psijics wanted you! The blasted Psijics! And they weren’t good enough for you either, were they Nilandur? Because  _ nothing _ is good enough for you! You’re handed everything in life,  _ everything, _ and you just breeze past it, moving onto your next flight of fancy…” Kalatar spit onto the ground, his saliva thick and red with blood. “When the Thalmor captured you, do you know what my first thought was?  _ Good. _ But then, oh, of course, it’s not enough that you’re a Psijic, no. You had to help spawn the  _ fucking Dragonborn. _ ” Kalatar laughed hysterically, leaning back against his palms and staring up at the ceiling of the cave. He closed his eyes, breathing wetly through his bloodied nose, apparently out of things to say. Aerik looked ready to punch him again.

 

Nilandur still knelt quietly by his side, eyes trained on the ground. Slowly, he lifted his hands to Kalatar’s face, palms beginning to radiate with healing light. Kalatar looked at him with shock, beginning to scramble away. 

“Please,” Nilandur insisted. “Let me…” He cupped the base of Kalatar’s neck with one hand, the other pressing gently against his swollen jaw, golden light pulsing out of both. 

“I… have not been a good friend to you,” Nilandur confessed quietly. “You’re right to be angry with me. I…” He cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact as he continued to heal. “I often think only of myself, and not how my actions might affect those I care about. I’m… I’m sorry, Kalatar.” He looked up then. “I did not intend to abandon you.”

 

The swelling in Kalatar’s face had gone down, his cuts healed, though the dried blood still remained streaked across his face. He looked at Nilandur with wide, wary eyes, but remained still and silent. Nilandur slowly got to his feet, brushing off his robes. 

“I think you should leave,” he suggested softly. “Or I will make you leave.” He turned to join Aerik and Teldryn, keeping his back turned. Kalatar looked somewhere between terrified and humiliated. He pushed awkwardly to standing, stumbling as he regained his footing. He looked to Teldryn, then to Aerik, slowly beginning to back away. 

“You’re going to get yourselves killed,” he said weakly. “They won’t stop until they get what they want.”

“Let us worry about that,” Aerik growled. “Now, my  _ father _ has been incredibly gracious, seeing as I was ready to beat you into the gods damned ground. So I believe it’s in your best interest if you got the fuck out of here.” 

 

Kalatar looked like he wanted to say something else, opening his mouth once, before closing it again. He began to edge back towards the way they’d come. 

“Wait,” Nilandur said suddenly, spinning around. He dipped a hand beneath the collar of his robe, pulling out the pendant. Teldryn saw Kalatar flinch preemptively as Nilandur walked towards him. He reached out and grabbed Kalatar by the wrist, placing the pendant in his open palm. 

“If…” Nilandur sighed, a tired, weary sound. “If you ever want to…” He shook his head, releasing Kalatar’s wrist. “If you want to try again, just… send this back to me.” He looked up and they locked eyes. Kalatar said nothing, but took a tentative step backwards before turning and fleeing up the passageway. Nilandur sighed again, watching him go for a long moment before turning back around. Wordlessly Aerik strode forward and wrapped him up in a crushing hug. Nilandur seemed to fall into it gratefully. 

“I’m sorry for what I said… about you trusting the wrong people.” Aerik muttered, still sounding a bit petulant. 

“It’s alright, Aerik,” Nilandur chuckled softly, patting his son’s back. “You weren’t wrong.”

 

Aerik pulled away, ruffling Nilandur’s hair probably a bit rougher than he needed to, but the old Altmer laughed wearily and swatted him away. Aerik turned back to Teldryn, hands on his hips. 

“Want to explain?” 

“Vivec,” Teldryn said simply. 

“Ah…” Aerik nodded. “So, we head further in, round that corner and…?”

“Well, we’re now presented with a unique opportunity,” Teldryn began. “We have the upper hand, but how do we want to use it?” He looked to Nilandur. “If you have the power to get into all of their minds and make them calmly leave, then I’m fine with that - but you should know…” Teldryn paused, the image of Nilandur’s cloudy, lifeless eyes passing through his mind. “You should know that they will not hesitate to kill us. They _did_ _not_ hesitate.” 

“Wait, so you already experienced all this?” Aerik asked, eyebrows raised. “What happened?” 

Teldryn paused, weighing his words. “We… failed.”

Aerik pressed his lips together, brow creased, but he simply nodded curtly. “It won’t happen again.”

 

“Unfortunately,” Nilandur piped up, “I don’t see this situation ending peacefully.” He pulled at the air as if it were made of dough, bright light shining between his palms and around his forearms, before slinging his hands out in front of him. Massive white discs materialized like glimmering shields. Aerik laughed openly. It was a joyous sound, almost identical to the first time Teldryn had ever heard him laugh, fighting ash spawn on the sandy shores of Solstheim, and he smiled despite himself. 

“To battle then?” he asked, drawing his Nordic sword from its sheath while pulling a spell into his left hand. 

“To battle,” Aerik nodded, his smile broad and white. 

 

_ “MUL… QAH DIIV!”  _

 

Vibrant, illusory horns and spikes burst forth from Aerik’s head and shoulders, surging down his arms and forming plates across his chest, lighting up the passage with their ethereal glow. Nilandur gasped softly and Teldryn just smiled. 

“Well, they know we’re here now,” Teldryn laughed, swinging his arms to loosen up his shoulders. Aerik grinned at him through his shining, translucent dragon armor, unsheathing his swords and jogging around the bend. 

 

Teldryn closed his eyes, taking a long, even breath. He reached deep within himself, back into the hearts of his ancestors, feeling the Red Mountain pulsing through his veins. With a sharp exhale, fire erupted from his skin, engulfing him in a wreath of flame that swirled around him like a firestorm. He looked back at Nilandur one last time before jogging after Aerik. 

 

“Come out, come out!” Aerik teased loudly as he rounded the corner. Teldryn felt the energy of the room shift, the tension fit to snap, though nobody appeared. 

“Aww, nobody wants to play with us?  _ FUS… RO DAH!” _ Startled shrieks and cries echoed off the high ceiling as one side of the room became suddenly visible, seven or eight Thalmor agents thrown like ragdolls across the room by the force of Aerik’s shout. Ondolemar blinked into view, his face contorted in terror and rage. 

“Kill them all!” he commanded, his arms crackling with electricity. Teldryn lunged for him, aiming for Ondolemar’s chest. The Altmer stepped out of the way just in time for the sword to slice neatly through the front of his armor. Teldryn pulled magicka into his left hand, intent on conjuring a second sword. Instead of the swirling purple energy of a bound weapon, more fire exploded from his palm, forming the shape of a curved scimitar. Without hesitating Teldryn continued his momentum, spinning around and bringing the flaming sword down into the crook of Ondolemar’s neck. The sword cleaved into his body, leaving no blood as Teldryn nearly took the Altmer’s head off. He crumpled into a lifeless heap. 

 

Teldryn felt the prickle of electricity at his back, turning to see Nilandur shielding him from multiple lightning spells. Another one of Aerik’s Shouts reverberated off the walls of the chamber, and Teldryn used the distraction to roll past Nilandur’s shields and skewer the agent casting the spells with both his swords. She still managed to scream as her face came into contact with Teldryn’s flame cloak, skin bubbling as it began to melt. He jerked his swords free, spinning to the next agent to carve two deep gashes across their chest before decapitating them. Another Shout and five agents smashed against the wall in front of Teldryn, leaving bloody smatters in their wake. 

 

It was hardly a fight, Teldryn thought. It was an execution. 

 

Teldryn felt the flames surrounding his body begin to fade, his heart rate slowing down to something resembling normal. Silence. Aerik stood in the center of the room, his illusory dragon armor still glowing brightly, looking at the shattered bodies that lay around them. No one spoke for a long moment. The silence was finally broken by a loud sniff. Teldryn turned to see Nilandur, arms hanging limply by his sides, face streaked with tears. 

“Nil…” Aerik began softly, but Nilandur shook his head vigorously. 

“I know… I know it was necessary.” He took a stuttering inhale. “But to come to such a violent end…” He let his face fall into his hands, his shoulder shuddering with silent sobs. Teldryn and Aerik seemed to move towards him at the same time, both stopping as they looked to each other. Nilandur swayed unsteadily on his feet, and Teldryn made the decision to continue forward, stepping up to put an arm around the mer’s shoulder. 

“They don’t deserve your pity,” Aerik said, and Teldryn shot him a stern look.  _ Wrong thing to say, love _ , he thought irritably. 

“I…” Nilandur sniffed loudly, looking up from his hands. “I do not pity them,” he corrected, his eyes red and puffy. “I am  _ mourning _ them.”

“Yeah, well, they don’t deserve that either,” Aerik pressed. 

“A loss of life always deserves to be mourned,” Nilandur insisted quietly, patting Teldryn’s hand before stepping away. “Even those who have lived wickedly. For them, I mourn what they could have been.” He looked around the room, from body to body, his expression slowly returning to something neutral. “They were all bright, vibrant souls led astray, down a dark path from which there was no return. Is that not also worth mourning?”

 

Aerik’s dragon armor slowly faded and he looked smaller, staring at the floor with a crease between his brows. He sheathed his swords aggressively and wiped his nose across his bracer before turning towards the door.

“So what’s this?” he asked, changing the subject. 

“That’s the door they wanted to open so badly,” Teldryn explained.  

_ “Zeim dinok hi hahnu. Zeim hahnu hi lahney. Fin zul bex. Wah tinvaak los wah zorox,” _ Aerik read aloud. 

“Through death you dream, through dreaming you live, the voice opens, to speak is to create,” Teldryn replied, earning him an impressed look from Aerik. Teldryn waved his hand. “Don’t look so impressed, you translated it the first time.”

“So did we open it?” 

Teldryn shook his head. “Neither your Shout nor Nilandur’s magic were able to open it.” 

 

Aerik stepped forward, running his hand along the carving of the dragon in the center. Nilandur was still sniffling slightly behind them.

“To speak is to create,” Aerik murmured to himself. “If my Thu’um didn’t work, then would normal speaking work?” He stood back from the door a bit, squaring up his shoulders. “OPEN!” he yelled. The door remained unmoved. He spun on his heels to look at Teldryn. “I’m out of ideas.” 

 

Teldryn stroked his chin thoughtfully, looking at the dragon letters above the door, then to the carving itself. A dragon eating its tail, consuming itself, an endless cycle of birth and destruction. Cycles. Patterns. His thoughts shifted to all those long nights reading Vivec’s sermons, their riddles still scattered, but slowly converging.  

“What if…” Teldryn turned to look at Nilandur. The mer had regained almost all of his composure, though his eyes still remained swollen and red.  

Teldryn strode towards him. “What if it’s like interacting with the Weave?” 

Nilandur blinked. “What?”

“When you were trying to teach me about it,” Teldryn began, feeling himself on the verge of some kind of revelation. “You told me not to think of fire as something that exists outside of myself, correct? But something that exists as an extension of myself.”

“Yes,” Nilandur replied tentatively. 

“So what if ‘speaking’ has never been in the literal sense?” Teldryn continued, beginning to pace. 

“Tel, I’m not following,” Aerik confessed with a loud sigh. 

“Like you said, Nilandur, the fire is always there.” He pointed to the ground at his feet. “The potential is always there.”

“Yes,” Nilandur agreed again, eyes shifting to Aerik then back to Teldryn. 

“Just as the potential for us to fail was there as well. In fact, we  _ did _ fail. That reality still exists!” Teldryn felt slightly manic, but it was all coming together - as if everything had been building up to this, as if every interaction he’d ever had in his life had led him to this exact moment. The pieces were falling into place. Signs. Signifiers. Symbols. Language.  _ Creation _ . 

“The potential is always there,” Teldryn repeated, looking between Aerik and Nilandur frantically. “And this door.” He pointed over his shoulder. “This  _ veil _ , does not actually exist. It never has. It is only there because we believe it is. Because we  _ say _ it is.”

 

An ice cold breeze swept through the room, ruffling Teldryn’s hair, and a chill ran down his spine, freezing him to the bone. He turned slowly back around as a fresh wave of terror pulsed through his body. Where the massive round door once stood there was now only the dark, gaping maw of a cave. Nilandur and Aerik both wore looks of utter shock, their eyes wide with fear. None of them spoke, simply staring into the yawning darkness before them.

“Do…” Aerik began at last, his voice wavering slightly. “Do we go in?” 

 

That was the question, wasn’t it? Teldryn looked around them. They stood in a room full of dead Thalmor agents, their bodies crumpled, walls spattered with their blood. The enemy was defeated, at least for now. However, the entire reason they found themselves here was still unresolved - they were simply left staring into a vast and terrible unknown greater than Teldryn had ever experienced. The mystery remained.  _ Your trial approaches _ . Vivec’s voice drifted through his mind.

“I believe we do,” Teldryn nodded, squaring up his shoulders. 

 

“I believe we must.” 

  
  



	23. The Scripture of the Cave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay on the update! This was... _a doozey_ to write and edit. A huge thank you to rauncyandpaunchy for helping me work through this Goliath. You have my eternal gratitude. ♡ 
> 
> Come, dear readers.   
> Let's step into the Cave together.

_Beyond this place of wrath and tears_

_Looms but the horror of the shade,_

_And yet the menace of the years_

_Finds, and shall find me, unafraid._

 

* * *

 

Nilandur held up his hands as Teldryn and Aerik strode towards the open mouth of the cave. “Perhaps we should discuss this first.” 

Aerik turned to face his father. “I don’t think there’s anything to discuss, Nil.” 

Nilandur laughed a bit hysterically, pushing his hair away from his face.  “There is  _ plenty _ to discuss! We just watched Teldryn access…  _ something _ ! Something so... so  _ incomprehensible _ , that I can hardly call it magicka at all. And now we’re going to just… waltz right into whatever lies beyond the mouth of that cave?”

“What would you suggest?” Aerik asked, gesturing wildly to the room around them. “That we call up the Psijics, have them poke around at it? Wait days or weeks, maybe months to figure out what this is?”

“No!” Nilandur shook his head, frustration written plainly in his features. “I’m simply saying that we shouldn’t go charging in without a plan!” 

 

“Nilandur is right,” Teldryn ceded, though he still itched to move forward. It was as if the cave was calling to him, the darkness drawing him in – a small, niggling tug at an invisible string in the center of his chest. He turned his back to the opening, a small gesture of defiance. “We need a plan.” 

Aerik laughed with a dramatic shrug. “How are we supposed to plan for something like this? We don’t even know what’s in there.” 

“Firstly,” Nilandur said, dropping the satchel that was slung around his back, “I propose we tether ourselves together.” He pulled out a length of rope, holding it out for Aerik to take. 

“So if we get lost we at least get lost together?” Aerik rolled his eyes pointedly, and Teldryn laughed, despite the terror the suggestion sparked. 

“Aerik, please,” Nilandur pleaded.

Aerik sighed, taking the rope. “Fine.” He handed a bit of the length to Teldryn and they spent a moment tying the rope to their belts. 

“I’d say it might be smart if we also attempt to leave markings,” Nilandur continued, already looking calmer. “To at least see where we’ve been and keep track of the directions we’ve taken.” Aerik wiggled his fingers dramatically with a cheeky grin before pointing at the ground, zapping a small rune into existence with his magicka. 

Nilandur gave him a disapproving look.  “You really believe that anything magical will stick in there?” 

“Hey, for all we know, it could just be a regular old cave.” He turned to Teldryn with a lopsided grin. “Would that be anticlimactic or what?” 

“We could only be so fortunate,” Teldryn answered dryly. “But, we can test it. Otherwise we could try to use charcoal.” 

“Good idea, Teldryn.” Nilandur smiled, looking pleased. It was tedious, and it felt absurd to be ironing out the details as if it were a walk in the woods, but treating the situation like something rational almost made it seem less daunting. Less unreal.    

 

“So what exactly do you plan to do?” Aerik asked, looking at Teldryn expectantly. 

“I’m not entirely sure.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to calm his rising hackles. “But I just  _ know _ , without a shadow of a doubt, that we have to go in. I feel it’s what Vivec has been taunting me about this entire time.”

“Vivec,” Nilandur murmured. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned that name. It sounds familiar, but I can’t say I know why.” 

“It would take a significant amount of explanation.” Teldryn gave Nilandur an apologetic look. “And at this point that I don’t really feel we have the time.” 

“The short answer is: Teldryn has been receiving visions from a dead God,” Aerik supplied with a grin. A comical oversimplification. 

Nilandur blinked, his expression one of utter shock. “That… might have been useful information to share with me.” 

“Regardless.” Teldryn brushed past Nilandur, stepping towards the mouth of the cave. “He told me that if I wanted the world to remain as it was, I had to go through with this. Though he didn’t tell me exactly what ‘this’ is, or how to go about it.”

“Well, I’ve got your back,” Aerik offered, stepping up beside him and placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“I as well,” Nilandur added, stepping to his other side. “Whatever that may mean at this point.” Teldryn huffed in amusement, an incredible fondness blooming in his chest as he looked at his two companions. Their unwavering loyalty made him feel protected in a way he’d never felt before. It gave him hope.

“Then I suppose it’s time we… save the world?” 

“Or something like that,” Aerik smirked, and Nilandur let out a nervous laugh. 

“Auri-El guide us.” 

 

They stepped forward together, teetering on the edge of the unknown, pausing momentarily before passing into the darkness. 

 

\---

 

At first Teldryn wasn’t sure what had happened. The disorientation came on so suddenly that he was barely certain he was still standing on his own two feet. The only thing that managed to bring him back was the soft gasp from Nilandur at his left and Aerik cursing to his right, and he blindly reached out to them, feeling each of their hands scrambling for his just as frantically. 

“Everyone alright?” he asked. His voice sounded muffled, as if the entire room were packed tight with freshly bound cotton. Nilandur squeezed his hand.

“The entrance is gone,” Aerik pointed out, but Teldryn already knew that. There was nothing but blackness around them. 

“I’m,” Nilandur began, swallowing audibly. “I’m going to attempt to cast mage light.” 

“Good idea,” said Aerik. 

“Wait.” Teldryn held up a hand they couldn’t see. “Look.” Just ahead of them, slightly over their heads, something was glowing faintly. At first, Teldryn’s logical brain insisted that they must be glowing mushrooms, or some kind of bioluminescent cave plant clinging to a high wall. They seemed too distant, however - their shapes too undefined. 

“What  _ is _ that?” Aerik asked. 

“They look like stars,” came Nilandur’s breathless reply. Teldryn inhaled sharply.

 

They  _ were _ stars. 

 

The three of them stepped closer and the shapes of the three main constellations slowly emerged: the Thief, the Mage, and the Warrior. 

“How…?” Nilandur gasped. “How is this possible?”    
Teldryn felt Aerik shift beside him, then ask, “are we outside? Somehow?” The constellations grew brighter and Teldryn began to make out the faces of his companions. Aerik was staring upwards, his brows drawn together in confusion. Nilandur had a look of terror on his face. 

“We should keep moving,” Teldryn suggested. There was no turning back, quite literally. Tentatively, the three of them continued forward, the tension of the rope tugging gently at Teldryn’s waist. The constellations soon reached their full size and brightness, suspended just over their heads, as if they were walking in place. Teldryn couldn’t say for certain that they weren’t. He still couldn’t see the ground, or any other landmarks around them. He felt as though he were moving through space, but the feeling in his body didn’t match the information his eyes gave him. Silence hung heavily between them as they walked, desperation growing as the helplessness of the situation began to settle in. Just when he couldn’t take the silence any longer, Teldryn opened his mouth to speak, but Aerik beat him to it. 

“Do both of you see that too?” In the dim light of the stars, Teldryn could see him pointing directly ahead of them. 

“See what?” He grunted, squinting into the darkness. There was something, slowly getting larger as they continued to step towards it. 

“It looks like a pedestal,” Nilandur mused. 

“Yeah, with a book on top of it.” Aerik exhaled loudly. “Just when I thought things couldn’t get any weirder…”

“I would anticipate things only becoming stranger, love,” Teldryn offered with a forced laugh. Aerik’s hand found his again, squeezing once before dropping away.

 

They picked up their pace, breaking into a slow jog. Aerik and Nilandur were correct; it was a pedestal with a book placed atop it. An incredibly old book, by the looks of it—pages tattered around the edges, browned with age and battered by the elements. 

“What does it say?” 

“It looks like an old census…” 

Teldryn leaned in, squinting. A sudden brightness filled the space, a mage light dancing alongside Nilandur’s head. Aerik cursed, Teldryn blinking rapidly. 

“Sorry, very sorry,” Nilandur offered sheepishly before leaning in to read the book. He made a thoughtful sound, straightening up then bending forward to read it again. “Well. That’s a bit unsettling.” 

“You can say that again,” Aerik said, reading over his shoulder, skin pale in the blue light of Nilandur’s spell. Teldryn read as well, letting the words on the page roll over in his mind, trying to figure out what they meant, why they were even there: 

 

_ Name: Teldryn Sero  _

_ Land of Origin: Morrowind _

_ Know ye this also: _

_ Thy race is as deadly as the thorns of the black rose which blooms only in thy mother's breast. Thou hast all that is graceful in thy brothers of the day, yet thy mother is the moon, and thou art her children of the night… _

 

“Why would this book have my name in it?” Aerik mused. 

“Your name?” Nilandur jerked his gaze over his shoulder. “I see my name.” 

“What does yours say, then?” Teldryn asked. Aerik and Nilandur looked at each other for a moment before Aerik gestured for Nil to go ahead.    
Nilandur cleared his throat. “Ah, it says: 

‘Name, Nilandur, land of origin, Summerset, Know ye this also: Thy race is tall and stately, for thou art kings among princes. Thy people were first on this land to breathe the spring air and first to leap, nimble with the wind. Thine eyes canst see all even when naught is out but the Mistress of the Night…’” 

Aerik let out a sputtering laugh. “Wow, whoever wrote that was really laying it on thick. That, or an Altmer wrote it. What does yours say, Tel?” Teldryn read what he saw on the page, though Aerik didn’t laugh at his, simply stroked the stubble on his chin with a creased brow. 

“Alright, well mine says: 

‘Know ye this also: Thou art a child who walks between lands, liminal, transient. Thy mother is the icy moon, whilst thy father the radiant sun. A foot between worlds, thou exists in both and neither...’”     

“Not to state the obvious,” Teldryn began, about to state the obvious, “but it appears that we all see different things.” Aerik laughed nervously, scrubbing at the back of his neck, still eyeing the book. He looked back up at the stars and Teldryn did the same. They’d grown slightly brighter.  

“Do you think we’re in a different plane?” Nilandur asked weakly. 

“If we are, my bet’s on somewhere in Oblivion,” Aerik sighed.

 

Something in the distance caught Teldryn’s attention–movement in the darkness, the shifting of shadows, a shape catching the dim light of the constellations.

“Wait,” he whispered. “There’s something out there.” 

Aerik unsheathed his swords faster than Teldryn expected, shifting into a fighting stance. “What kind of something?” 

Teldryn squinted, straining to see. Nilandur’s mage light blinked out, plunging the three of them into darkness once again. At first, Teldryn thought perhaps he’s simply imagined it, the light playing tricks, his imagination overactive. 

 

But then it moved again. 

 

“There!” Aerik whispered loudly, severing the rope that tethered him to Teldryn and stalking towards whatever it was. 

“Aerik! Please!” Nilandur pleaded softly, loosening the knot around his own waist before skittering after him. Teldryn drew his own sword and took a deep breath before following. So much for getting lost together. It was still incredibly dark, even with the faint light of the stars, but Teldryn’s eyes slowly began to adjust, and the blurry shape soon began to take the form of a figure. Man or mer, he couldn’t tell, but it seemed to be facing away from them. Aerik slowed to a halt, straightening up and lowering his swords. The figure remained unmoving—Teldryn could discern the outline of a cloak and hood, a staff held upright in their left hand. Aerik looked back and him and Nilandur with a wary expression, raising his swords ever so slightly again. 

“Excuse me?” he called out. Teldryn heard Nilandur’s breath catch followed by a shaky exhale. The figure seemed to perk up, turning slowly around to look at them. The darkness still obscured their face. 

"I guard the Way.” The figure spoke in a deep voice, though something was off, as if he were ill or had damaged his throat. “Speak only my name, and I shall grant you passage." 

“Well, we don’t know your name, friend,” Aerik laughed nervously, still stalking towards him with his swords at the ready. “Do you want to tell it to us?”    
The figure remained silent for another moment. "I guard the Way. Speak only my name, and I shall grant you passage," he repeated with the exact same intonation.    
“I just said we don’t know your name,” Aerik growled, raising his swords. “And you’re gonna  _ grant us passage _ no matter what we call you.”  

 

_ Benefactor. _

 

It was a whisper in his mind. Teldryn shuddered, knowing the voice all too well. 

“Benefactor,” he said loud enough to carry. Aerik shifted to look at him in confusion before turning back to the silhouette, swords still at the ready. Even through the darkness Teldryn saw the figure’s head dip once in a silent nod. Torches burst to life on either side of them, and Teldryn jolted in surprise. One by one, they illuminated a long stretch of stone hallway that seemed to go on for half a mile. It looked like some sort of dungeon, or perhaps a maze, the ceiling low and rough.

“Were we in this the whole time?” Nilandur asked. 

“I don’t think so…” Teldryn pointed behind them. A solid wall barred them from the way they’d come, the stone mossy and damp with rusted chains hanging from iron rings. 

Aerik slowly re-sheathed his swords. “I guess… we go forward, then.” 

 

There was no sign of the figure that had been there mere moments ago. The three of them crept forward through the long, cold hall, the flame of the torches snapping and hissing as they passed. 

“I feel like I’m dreaming,” Aerik said quietly. “Or, more so, like I’m having a nightmare.” It was as if a small gear had clicked into place at Aerik’s words, like the mechanisms of a stubborn lock sliding into place in Teldryn's mind. The meaning behind them, however, still evaded him. 

Nilandur laughed nervously.  “Well, I’d very much like to wake up.”   
  
  


_ Wake up. _

 

Teldryn opened his mouth to speak, but Aerik’s surprised cry interrupted him.   
  
“A door! Oh thank the gods,” Aerik sighed.   
  
“If I’ve learned anything of doors today,” Nilandur began, “it’s that I don’t trust them to even be real.”   
  
“Well, it’s all we’ve got right now. So come on.”   
  
Aerik and Nilandur strode forward, and once again Teldryn was left feeling as though he were on the precipice of figuring _ something _ out, only to be pulled back at the last moment. Aerik grabbed the door handle with the confidence of someone who’d cheated death hundreds of times, and pushed into the unknown. 

 

Once again, the scene before them was something so wholly unexpected that Teldryn’s mind took a moment to truly process what he was seeing. It was a small, warm chamber, stonework from floor to ceiling. Bookcases lined the walls, packed so tightly that many of the book’s spines were beginning to bulge and warp. A massive red carpet covered the floor with an old wooden chair and table facing a roaring hearthfire in the far wall. A tall figure stood facing the fire, leaning on a cane. He spun around as they entered, the door snapping shut behind them. 

“Welcome!” he said with a sweeping gesture and a crooked grin. His hair and beard were stark white, his suit oddly shaped and asymmetrical, covered with swirling patterns and sigils that nearly made Teldryn’s eyes go crossed. 

“Who are you?” Aerik asked, a tremor of his Thu’um rumbling through his voice. Ah. So his husband was finally losing his patience. 

“Who are any of us?” the man asked with a jovial laugh, and Teldryn groaned internally, utterly sick of riddle-talk. 

“Don’t,” Aerik warned, the room shaking with the thunder of his voice. “Just tell us where we are so we can get the fuck out of here.”

The man smiled wickedly, leaning heavily on his cane and crossing an ankle over the other. “My dear boy.” He gestured around them with the other hand. “You’re in Hell.” He snapped his fingers. 

 

The walls of the room collapsed, the fire in the hearth exploding outwards and consuming the man. Teldryn grabbed onto Aerik and Nilandur, pulling them behind him and shielding them from the flames, squinting against the blinding heat and light. When he was able to open his eyes again, his stomach dropped. 

“Divines have mercy on us,” Nilandur whispered. 

 

They now stood in a massive cavern, atop a rickety wooden bridge that swayed threateningly beneath their feet. Teldryn hazarded a glance over the side of the bridge, eyes wide. 

 

Lava. 

They weren’t in a cave, they were in a volcano. 

_ The Red Mountain. _

 

“Welcome, Moon-and-Star. I have prepared a place for you."

 

Teldryn felt his blood run cold, his body tensing. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned towards the source of the voice. The figure looked out across the bridge, slowly stepping towards them—long legs and arms, each step deliberate and oddly graceful, like that of a dancer. Teldryn felt frozen, utterly useless, confronted with something he thought he’d never see—would ever see again? His mind felt raw, ripped open, unsure if his memories were even his own, and yet Dagoth Ur strode forward. The golden mask caught the light, nails long and sharp as he extended his hand.    
  
“Welcome to this place where destiny is made."

 

In a flash, Aerik rolled forward, blocking Teldryn from view.

 

“FUS… RO DAH!” 

 

Dagoth Ur went toppling backwards, thrown like a rag doll over the edge of the bridge and down into the fires below. 

 

A long, pregnant silence stretched between them, disbelief lingering in the air, then Teldryn felt a hiccup catch in his throat. Then another. Before he knew it, he’d doubled over, clutching his sides, somewhere between laughing and sobbing. The mania consumed him and he wasn’t sure how long he crouched there, his sides heaving. When he finally looked up, lightheaded, Aerik was kneeling next to him. 

“Tel?” he asked quietly, his expression tight.  

Teldryn’s smile still felt manic, tears blurring the edges of his vision. “I love you so much.” He took Aerik’s face between his hands, kissing him deeply. He pulled back just enough to speak against Aerik’s cheek. “We’re going to get out of here. I promise.”

“You’re damn right we are,” Aerik agreed, pulling their foreheads together. “And we’re not gonna leave our bed for a week, I swear on Dibella’s tits.” 

“Not to interrupt,” Nilandur spoke up, his voice strained. “But I don’t believe the fight is over.” 

 

A sound like a great trumpet shook the entire structure, rocks crumbling and falling from the ceiling. The bridge pitched violently, bringing Nilandur to his knees beside Aerik and Teldryn. A massive fissure began to form in the side of the mountain, white-hot lava spewing forth and trickling down the rocks like blood. It continued to widen—larger, hotter—until at last a massive arm pushed through, followed by another, then two more. Mehrunes Dagon’s enormous, horned head breached the surface of the fissure, wreathed in flame, his body alight with swirling Daedric runes. His fiery eyes turned on the three of them, his lips curling around his enormous tusks.  A shrieking roar from the top of the volcano joined the cacophony of Dagon’s arrival.

 

_ “Mu fen grah, Dovahkiin. Voth zin.” _

 

The massive, black figure of a dragon swooped down from above, shrieking and belching fire. 

“Impossible…” Aerik said, barely a whisper above all the noise. “It’s impossible.”

“Aerik.” Nilandur spoke quite suddenly, voice as clear as a bell with a deadly calm to him. Alduin circled above them, letting out another roar as Dagon attempted to pull himself further through the gate. “I am so very glad that I was able to meet you, to get to know you… to see the man you grew up to be.”

“Stop it!” Aerik demanded, but Nilandur shook his head, reaching out a hand to touch Aerik’s cheek. 

“I love you, dearly.” He turned to Teldryn. “And you. You're a brilliant mer and I admire you in so many ways. I’m so thankful you came into my life.” Teldryn didn’t know what to say in return, his throat dry, his mind churning, trying to solve the puzzle. The last and final riddle. They weren’t going to die here. This couldn’t be how it ended.

 

_ Heroes who die are always reborn. _

 

Dagoth Ur. Mehrunes Dagon. Alduin. The great adversaries of Tamriel’s heroes. Not dead, but not alive. Trapped, doomed to repeat history over and over.  _ The wheel spins. _

 

“They’re not really here,” Teldryn murmured, too low to be heard. “They’re not here.” Louder, that time. Aerik looked at him then, as did Nilandur—their faces marred with fear, despair, confusion. Teldryn could save them. He  _ had _ to save them. 

_ Enlightened are those uneaten by the world.  _

Alduin let out a shriek as Dagon pulled himself fully free of the gate. Teldryn stood up, lifting his chin, heart hammering in his chest. He opened his mouth.   

 

_ “Enough!” _

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  
  


 

Teldryn was alone.

 

The darkness pulsed around him, alive, pressing against him on all sides. He looked down at his arms, if only to make sure he still existed. Not only was his body somehow illuminated amidst the darkness, but he was shocked to find he was wearing his old chitin armor. Quickly, he reached up and tore the helmet from his head, ripping off the goggles and the scarf. The helmet hit the floor with a muted thump, the sound dying as soon as it began.

“Aerik?” he called out, his voice echoless, as if the room he was in were incredibly small. “Nilandur?” 

 

Nothing. 

 

He spun in place, looking for something, anything. An escape, a door,  _ anything _ . The darkness stretched on endlessly, flat, like a shadow against a wall. 

“Please…” Teldryn whispered. A primal, gnawing panic nipped at the edges of his mind, the terror of this realm so complete that he felt crushed by the weight of it. What if he was trapped here forever? What if  _ this _ was what the Thalmor wanted all along—to reduce Mundus to nothingness? What if they’d succeeded and they hadn’t noticed? Teldryn sucked in a breath, his throat tightening as the dread attempted to double down. 

“Think, Teldryn, think…” he mumbled out loud, squeezing his eyes shut and gripping the sides of his head. He took a long, steadying breath, thinking back to his training with the Tong, as he always did when he felt hopelessly lost.  _ When you inevitably find yourself in a situation in which you have lost control… you must lean into that feeling. Embrace it. It’s useless to fight in these situations. _ His teacher’s words managed to echo through his mind, her stern red eyes looking him up and down as she walked back and forth.

 

“A creature thrashing in a spider’s web will only draw the spider to them faster.” Teldryn’s eyes snapped open and he took a stumbling step backwards.  _ Impossible _ . “A drowning mer will lash and rage against the water and they will sink faster.” Dovona Valrethi, senior member of the Morag Tong of the year 4E 3, paced before him in the darkness, as solid and as real as the day he’d first heard her words. “But to remain calm – to allow yourself room to feel the helplessness, the discomfort, the panic… you will also give yourself room to find a solution.” She looked directly at him, stopping her pacing. “Were you listening, Teldryn?”

 

Teldryn had no words. He opened and closed his mouth, blinking dumbly at the spectre of his teacher. 

“You’re not real,” he said aloud, and as if she were made of smoke, Valrethi vanished. Teldryn exhaled slowly, staring blankly at the spot where his teacher had stood. 

 

“It seems you’re catching on.”    

 

Teldryn whirled in the direction of the voice. “You…” He felt anger boiling beneath his skin. “What have you done?” 

“Done?” Vivec smirked at him, standing an uncomfortably far distance away, though his voice carried as if they were right beside each other. “I, personally, have done nothing.” 

“Enough of your tricks! Your lies!” Teldryn yelled, stomping towards him. Vivec continued to remain the same distance away. With a roar, Teldryn broke into a sprint. Vivec seemed to glide along the darkened expanse, constantly staying just out of Teldryn’s reach as he thundered forward. He smiled wickedly, as if it were all a fantastic joke. Finally, Teldryn slowed to a halt, doubling over to rest his hands against his knees, struggling for breath. 

“Teldryn,” Vivec said lowly. “You’re smarter than this.  _ Think. _ You just had it moments ago.” 

“This isn’t real,” Teldryn lamented, utterly exhausted. He felt a sob threaten to claw its way out of his throat, so he coughed instead, straightening up and rubbing furiously at his eyes. 

“Look.” Vivec was behind him now. Teldryn felt his cool hands sliding along his temples. So Teldryn looked.  

 

Before him a small orb light had formed, hovering in the darkness. It was bright, like a star, pulsing, spinning. Teldryn walked forward, feeling Vivec’s fingers slide from his scalp. The longer he looked, the more he felt like he knew what he was looking at, but the less he understood.

“Is that it?” he asked, only marginally aware of what he was asking. 

“That’s it,” Vivec affirmed. “This… is what they wanted to find.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice. “I don’t think they were quite ready.” 

“The pattern… of possibility?” Teldryn asked, still slowly approaching it. It thrummed with cool, indifferent light, shapes emerging within the swirling firmament. “How am I standing outside of it?” 

“Because you saw the Truth.” Vivec was in front of him again, standing on the other side of the Pattern. 

“But why was it here?” Teldryn pressed, unable to tear his eyes away. “Why in Skyrim? Why the Throat of the World?” 

Vivec laughed, but it was a joyless sound. “It is everywhere. It isn’t  _ just _ here. But it’s here because it was expected to be.”

“Just like the door,” Teldryn sighed, the pieces finally sliding into place. “So it really is all a dream, then?” 

“And we are the dreamers.”  

“And Aerik?” 

“The anticipated archetype.” Vivec moved around to stand beside Teldryn. “Forged by prophecy, willed into reality, playing his part. Spectacularly, might I add.”

 

Teldryn continued to stare into the light, hypnotized by the swirling, misty figures that pulsed close to the surface. If this was the truth of reality, then he’d have preferred to remain ignorant. 

“I believe,” Teldryn began after a moment, “that I would like to return now.” 

Vivec’s expression tightened, his mouth quirking. “Return?” 

“Yes.” 

“I told you, Teldryn,” Vivec chuckled. “There’s no going back.” 

“I beg to differ,” Teldryn scoffed, moving closer to the light. “If it’s all a dream and we’re the dreamers, and yet I’m standing here with you, then I clearly control my dream.” The orb grew to the size of his torso, swirling turbulently. 

“And you would live in a world that is a lie?” Vivec asked, sounding almost angry. “You would walk amongst your fellow mer and know that they’re simply blind puppets? Ghosts phasing through shadow after shadow?” 

“Is that how you see it?” Teldryn asked with a laugh, turning to actually look at Vivec. In the cold light of the Pattern he looked normal, mortal; frustration was painted plainly across his features. Teldryn smiled a bit sadly. “It must be incredibly lonely for you.” 

Vivec furrowed his brow, jerking to stand a bit straighter. “You mistake my character.” 

“No, I think I see it clearly now,” Teldryn corrected. “You thought I would be like you. That I would so easily turn my back on,” he gestured to the Pattern, “everything. That I would run away.” 

“I did not run from anything. I turned away from the Lies and towards the Truth.” 

“But that’s just it, isn’t it?” Teldryn let out a huff. “This whole time you’ve been trying to tell me what is and is not the truth, all while simultaneously telling me that the world is what we make it—that reality is simply what we agree upon. Nilandur was right,” he laughed, mirthless. “The Divines really don’t have any choice… because they’re exactly what we expect them to be, and nothing more. But I do. I  _ do _ have a choice.” He began to pull at his gloves, shucking his bracers from his arms. Vivec was frowning at him, his eyes lingering on Teldryn’s bare forearms. 

“I—” 

“The only name of God, right?” Teldryn interrupted. “Look at the majesty sideways?” Vivec said nothing, looking small and a bit lost. “That’s what I thought.” Teldryn turned back to the light in front of him, scanning the images that flashed before him. 

“What are you going to do?” Vivec asked, his shoulders tense. 

“I’ve come all this way,” Teldryn murmured, more to himself than an answer to the question. “I’m going to see my husband again. I’m going to make it home. I swear to it. And when I do go home,” he clenched and unclenched his fists, “it’s going to be to a world in which I made a difference.”

 

Without thinking twice, Teldryn punched his arm into the light. Vivec may have yelled something, but he couldn’t hear it. The world seemed to collapse around him, crushing him into something very small, before exploding outwards with a massive blast of noise and sound and light. It took all of his strength to hold himself together, to keep his very essence from ripping apart, scattering to nothingness. He reached out with his mind, unsure if his body still existed, reaching, searching. He just needed to find one concept, one thought, the inception point. His awareness shuddered, mind flayed open, and he felt more than saw all the possibilities of what could be, what had been—different heroes, all in different bodies, enacting the same fate over and over in a continuous loop. But there was one thing… Where was it? The barest extension of himself brushed against the thoughtform and he latched onto it, clamping down with his mind, his hand. With a tremendous shout, Teldryn ripped himself backwards, pulling the thoughtform with him. 

 

All at once, the noise stopped.        

 

He was standing before the Pattern once more, his arm outstretched, fist closed. Vivec was gone, vanished once again. 

He was alone. 

Slowly he brought his hand towards him, opening his fingers to peer at the small orb of light that rested gently in his palm. To see it in its original form, its moment of conception, it seemed so small. So innocuous. To think how dangerous it would one day become... 

“I’m removing you,” Teldryn said aloud, “from the Pattern of Possibility.” The small light said nothing in response, but simply burned brightly against his skin before extinguishing completely. And that was it. The concept was gone, the Pattern shifted, reforming around itself. It was done. No cataclysms occurred, no volcanoes erupted, no races wiped from the face of Nirn. He had simply plucked an idea from existence, cutting it at the root.

 

“Thalmor” no longer existed.  

 

Teldryn sighed. With a thought, he blinked away.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all my readers. ♡ It's so bittersweet that this story is coming to an end, but I am just floored by the support and the enthusiasm and the _love_ I've received along the way. 
> 
> Next chapter will be up soon!


	24. 5E 1 - Mid Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My story is technically a comedy, by Shakespearean standards, because it ends with a wedding. 
> 
> Thank you [FourCatProductions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCatProductions/pseuds/mimosa-supernova) for being an amazing beta-reader!

_It matters not how strait the gate,_

_How charged with punishments the soul,_

_I am the master of my fate:_

_I am the captain of my soul._

 

* * *

 

“Are you attending the wedding?” 

 

The question wasn’t for him. Teldryn, instead, picked up a tomato, turning it over in his hands, pressing his fingers against the taut flesh before lifting it to his nose to sniff. It was perfectly ripe. 

“Bah, it’s all pomp and circumstance,” the man behind the stall’s counter scoffed. 

“Yes, but it’s still important,” the woman next to Teldryn insisted. “It’s a momentous occasion. Historical.” 

“Bah,” the man repeated. 

“I’ll take five of these, please,” Teldryn held up the tomato. The man startled, as if he hadn’t noticed him there, but nodded wordlessly all the same. 

 

Ten septims lighter, Teldryn made his way back down Solitude’s main thoroughfare towards the small courtyard of houses. When he pushed in through the front door of the small apartment, laughter greeted him. 

“You did _not_ say that,” Morimir chuckled, perched in the lap of his partner – a lean Redguard named Cyrus. He was looking at the mer adoringly, arms wrapped tightly around him. 

“I swear to the gods,” Aerik assured, holding up his hand in oath. 

“Well, it’ll probably be in your best interest if you were gagged during the ceremony,” Cyrus said, prompting another laugh from the room. Aerik looked over his shoulder, grinning at Teldryn as he set the bag down on the kitchen table. 

“Speaking of…”  
“Oh, hush,” Teldryn scolded, smirking despite himself. “Ever vulgar.” 

“Just the way you like it.” Aerik sunk down into the chair, crossing an ankle over his knee. “Tomatoes?” He eyed Teldryn’s bag, taking a sip of his drink.

“I planned on making a stew for dinner. We already had a few leeks and garlic.”  
“Sounds delicious,” Morimir sighed, leaning back against Cyrus’ chest, his cheeks flushed from the wine they’d been drinking. Aerik pushed out of his chair and sauntered over behind Teldryn to wrap his arms around his waist, pressing a kiss against his shoulder. 

“Where’s Nilandur?” 

He felt Aerik shrug. “Out for a walk, I think.” He paused, leaning his head against Teldryn’s, watching him place the tomatoes in a line on the windowsill. “Can I… talk to you for a minute? Outside?” 

“Of course.” 

 

He followed Aerik to Moromir’s small balcony that overlooked the inner courtyard, closing the door behind them. Aerik’s hands were wrapped tightly around the railing, shoulders hunched. Teldryn knew what he wanted to talk about. Aerik was smart - much smarter than he let on most of the time. 

“It’s just…” Aerik trailed off, straightening up and rubbing at the back of his neck. When he turned around to face Teldryn, his expression was tight, jaw tense. “I’m–I feel a bit mad, but, I…” He sighed, and Teldryn wanted to help him, but remained silent, waiting. Aerik finally looked at him again. 

 

“How did we get here, Tel?” His shoulders slumped as he asked the question, his eyes wide with uncertainty, brows drawn together. Teldryn took a deep breath. “I mean,” Aerik continued when he didn’t respond right away. “The last thing I remember was being in the Cave. I remember Alduin and a whole lot of other things that made absolutely no sense. And then…” He gestured around them. “And it’s been _weeks_. It felt like we’d only been gone a day. What happened?” 

Teldryn tucked his lips around his teeth, chewing absently on the inside of his cheek. “Well,” he spoke carefully and deliberately, “a lot of things have happened between then and now.” 

“So, was I knocked unconscious?” Aerik pressed, his voice tight. 

Teldryn shook his head with a silent laugh. “You’re a bit too conscious, if I’m honest.” He was trying to joke, but Aerik just looked at him, agitated.

“Tel…” He stepped forward, taking Teldryn’s right arm in his hands, gently removing his glove  and pushing up his sleeve. Teldryn didn’t pull away, letting Aerik run his fingers across his skin: tattoo-less and now a warm, golden hue up to his elbow where the color returned to gray in a jagged, swirling pattern, blurring and distorting the tattoos on his upper arm. 

“What did you do?” 

Teldryn took Aerik’s hands between his own, bringing them up to his lips to kiss his knuckles. “I believe you would probably say that I ‘saved the world’.” 

“I don’t even…” Aerik’s voice was low, rough with emotion. He sniffed loudly, pulling his hands away and balling them into fists at his side. “I don’t even remember what we were supposed to be saving it from.” 

“That is as it should be.” 

“So you did that then? You made me forget?” Aerik looked hurt, and Teldryn wanted nothing more than to press into his mind, to show him everything he couldn’t say with words. But he wasn’t going to do to his husband what was done to him – he wasn’t Vivec. 

“I made everyone forget.” 

Aerik shuddered, turning away to look back out across the courtyard again. Silence stretched on between them. The sky was a deep, azure blue, cloudless. A hawk circled overhead and ship bells rung in the distance.

“So what are you?” Aerik asked coldly, and the question stung for reasons Teldryn couldn’t quite place. 

“Aerik,” he said, almost pleading. Aerik turned to face him, folding his arms across his chest. Teldryn stepped forward, running his hands along Aerik’s upper arms, across his shoulders. 

“I am your husband. I am completely and utterly myself. Believe me when I say, I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” 

“What does that even mean, Tel?” Aerik asked, voice cracking and eyes wet. Teldryn rubbed his arms once more before pulling Aerik towards him. He refused to uncross his arms, but leaned against Teldryn regardless, letting his head fall to rest against his shoulder. 

“Please.” Teldryn kept his voice low and even, speaking close to Aerik’s ear. “Please trust me. Trust…” He broke off, feeling emotion tightening his throat, tugging at the center of his chest like a string pulled taut. “Trust that everything I’ve done has been out of love. Love for this world. Love for _you_ , Aerik. You have been my tether, above all else. And while this new world is strange and terrifying, the only reason I’m able to hang on is because I have you.” He pulled back, squeezing Aerik’s shoulders tightly as he looked him in the eye. “You have shown me more love than I ever thought possible… than I ever thought I deserved. And I wasn’t about to lose that.” 

 

Aerik uncrossed his arms then, burying his head against his neck. They stayed like that for a long moment, the sharp cry of a hawk piercing the silence as it circled high above the city. 

“I just wish,” Aerik spoke against his shoulder, “that we could have done it together.” 

Teldryn held him tighter. “I as well, my love.”

“So we agree then?” 

“Agree?” 

Aerik pulled back to look at Teldryn, determined. “Going forward, we tackle all the weird stuff together. We each got one - I got Alduin, you got… whatever this was. But no more.” Teldryn laughed, a little disbelieving, reaching up to brush some of Aerik’s hair out of his face. He felt a warm, calloused hand slip beneath his shirt, fingers skimming lightly across his back, making him shiver. 

“I can agree to that,” Teldryn murmured with a half smile. Aerik returned it in kind. 

“Good.” 

 

///

 

It was another beautiful, cloudless day in Solitude. The courtyard of the Blue Palace was packed with citizens dressed in their finest, speaking in hushed, excited tones. Teldryn sat near the front with Aerik at his side, Nilandur seated next to Aerik. The old Altmer had a placid look on his face, smiling as he watched a butterfly land on a nearby lavender plant. 

“How are you feeling?” Teldryn asked, leaning around Aerik to address him. Nilandur looked up, eyes crinkling around the edges. 

“Just fine, thank you for asking.” He paused for a moment. “And thank you for everything, Teldryn,” he added. Deflection, but Teldryn accepted it. The ceremony was beginning. The woman from the market yesterday wasn’t wrong; it was certainly a momentous event – one that would go down in history. An end to Skyrim’s civil war through peace, understanding, and compromise. 

The marriage of Ulfric Stormcloak and Elisif the Fair. 

 

Aerik had a sour look on his face through the whole procession. Elisif looked truly beautiful, her dress cream-colored with golden accents, long train trailing elegantly behind her, her skin snow-white in the mid-morning sun. _Fair, indeed_ , Teldryn thought. 

“She shouldn’t have to marry him,” Aerik said under his breath. 

“I believe she was the one to propose the idea, love,” Teldryn whispered back. “She’s doing what she thinks is best for the country.” 

Aerik huffed, crossing his arms and slumping back in his seat. Nilandur was looking at his hands where they lay loosely folded in his lap, his face expressionless. 

 

Ulfric looked regal in his deep blue vestments, if not a bit tired, dark circles evident beneath his eyes. His crown caught the light as he turned his head, jewels flashing, and Teldryn saw him take a deep breath. He and Elisif smiled at each other – flat, resigned, but not necessarily unhappily. Teldryn admired their respective resolve. He and Aerik had been briefly caught up on the political progress by Morimir: the Empire and the Dominion begrudgingly agreeing to revise the White-Gold Concordat, Skyrim agreeing to remain an ally to the Empire. Unease still hung heavily in the air, an unnamed confusion lingering among the people, but at least resolution was on the horizon. The ban on Talos worship was lifted. The Great War was written off as a severe misstep on the Dominion’s behalf, the assassination of the Blades enacted by a fringe group of terroristic radicals. From what Teldryn could tell, most people were too relieved to ask too many questions. Or to recognize the glaring holes in their memories. 

 

The political marriage, on the other hand, served to pardon Ulfric of his war crimes, though judging by the pinched expressions of the Imperial guards, it was going to take more than a piece of paper to convince them of Ulfric’s worthiness. Teldryn sighed, tipping his head back to look up at the sky as the ceremony began. Halfway through he felt Aerik’s shoulder bump into his own, glancing to the side to see that his husband had nodded off. Teldryn smiled and sighed, blissfully happy amongst the utterly mundane. 

 

///

 

“So what great adventure are you onto next?” Morimir was well into his drink, as he always tended to be, rubbing his hand absently over Cyrus’ knee as they huddled close on the couch. Night had fallen around them, though the city continued to bustle - music flooding the streets, taverns overflowing with patrons celebrating the end of the war and the beginning of a new era. Teldryn was thankful to be away from it all, safe in the quiet comfort of Morimir’s small flat.  

“No idea,” Aerik answered, his arm slung around Teldryn’s shoulder. 

“Adventure seems to find us,” Teldryn said with a smirk, “whether we’re looking for it or not.” Aerik chuckled, tipping his tankard back to drain the last of its contents. 

“I can’t say I envy either of you,” Cyrus added, pulling Morimir further onto his lap, making the small mer giggle drunkenly. “I’m too much of a homebody.” 

“I’m fine with that.” Morimir pressed his face into Cyrus’ neck, cheeks flushed. 

 

Nilandur sat silently in the corner, gazing out over the courtyard with his chin in his hand. The window was slightly ajar, a soft breeze blowing his hair away from his face. He’d barely said a word all day, but smiled pleasantly whenever addressed. Teldryn knew he was confused – he could feel the edges of Nilandur’s mind reaching out like curious tendrils, searching and finding nothing substantial. But more than anything, restlessness and discontent rolled off Nilandur in waves, lapping at Teldryn’s perception with choppy agitation and forcing him to give the mer a wide berth. He wished he had words of comfort to offer, but Nilandur’s mask was so firmly in place that everything seemed to roll off him, like water across a seabird’s back. 

 

Teldryn had completely tuned out the rest of the conversation happening around him, lost in his own musings, and startled at a sharp knock at the front door. 

“Who on Nirn…?” Morimir pushed unsteadily off of Cyrus’ lap, setting his wine cup down and weaving across the living room and through the kitchen. His entire body jolted as he opened the door, though the guest was blocked from view. 

“I–I… your highness!” He dipped into a bow. “What–?” 

Nilandur had sprung to his feet, face pale. Ulfric stepped into view around the door, his eyes finding Nilandur immediately. 

“Oh fuck right off,” Aerik growled, getting to his feet. “You have some nerve, you know that?” Morimir looked mortified, while Cyrus looked confused and nervous. Ulfric just looked tired, merely regarding Aerik with a glance, before turning his attention back to Nilandur. 

“I was hoping I might be able to speak with you.” 

“Aerik’s father?” Morimir asked, looking between the two, and Teldryn saw Ulfric’s eye twitch. Nilandur remained motionless.

“Fuck off, Ulfric,” Aerik snapped. 

“Aerik, please.” Nilandur took a deep breath before he stepped forward, smoothing his hair down where the wind had ruffled it. “I can speak on my own behalf.” 

Aerik’s eyes practically burned with fury as he watched Nilandur cross the room. Teldryn tugged on his sleeve and he reluctantly sat back down, refusing to look in their direction.  The door clicked shut as Nilandur followed Ulfric out into the night, and Morimir hastily grabbed another bottle of wine from the kitchen. 

“What in Oblivion was that about?” he asked, uncorking the bottle and topping his cup off with shaky hands. Aerik crossed his arms, pressing his lips into a thin line and glaring daggers at the opposite wall. 

“It’s… complicated,” Teldryn offered when it was clear his husband wasn’t going to speak up. “Best let Nilandur take care of his own business.” 

“Idiot,” Aerik huffed under his breath. 

 

\---

 

Nilandur wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling, if he was feeling anything at all. He numbly put one foot in front of the other, hardly paying attention to where they were going and instead watching the way the fur trim around the edges of Ulfric’s cloak rustled in the wind, transfixed. Clouds drifted listlessly across the half-full moons, the aurora borealis creeping over the northern mountains. Ulfric led them up towards the Blue Palace, nodding to the guards as they passed before circling around towards the gardens. Nilandur reached out and ran a hand through a tall patch of lavender, pulling at some of the buds before lifting his fingers to his nose to inhale. Despite everything, he smiled. 

 

Ulfric stopped, hands clasped behind his back. He turned to look at him, and Nilandur couldn’t help the painful tug he felt in the center of his chest at finally seeing his face up close again. 

“I heard rumor that the… radicals that attacked the Moot somehow managed to escape their cells,” he said after a moment. 

Nilandur let out a breath. “Ah…” He shrugged, laughing nervously. “How odd.” 

Anger flashed behind Ulfric’s eyes. “Do you realize how dangerous–?” 

“It won’t be–” Nilandur interrupted him, sharp, confident. “It won’t be a problem.” 

Ulfric’s brows drew together and he turned away, walking towards the large gazebo that stood in the center of the gardens. Nilandur followed, stepping up the shallow steps and standing on the opposite side, waiting. 

 

Silence lapsed between them. Ulfric took a long moment before turning to look at him again, his expression softer now.

“I wasn’t sure what had happened to you,” he said. “I admit that I assumed the worst.” 

“Sometimes it’s best to assume the worst,” Nilandur responded, smoothing out the front of his robe. “So that when you learn the truth, there’s no room for disappointment.” Ulfric’s expression briefly twisted into something painful and raw and he turned away, looking out across the swaying flowers and tall grasses that moved with the night winds. Nilandur swallowed. 

“I didn’t mean–”

“I was a fool,” Ulfric said before he could finish. “A fool for thinking I might still find companionship in you.” 

“Ulfric,” Nilandur said softly, but the man kept his back turned. 

“I did what was required of me, and now I’m left with even more ghosts than I had before.” He looked over his shoulder. “With you among them.” 

“I’m not a ghost, Ulfric,” Nilandur insisted, voice firm. “And if you want forgiveness, then all you need to do is ask.” 

“Forgiveness?” Ulfric whirled on him, his eyes alight with defiance. “Ask, you say. _Grovel_ , is what you mean. Just as a golden elf would–” 

“Absolutely not,” Nilandur interrupted irritably, standing his ground. He saw Ulfric’s jaw working back and forth, eyes boring into his own, searching. 

“Some would pay to see the likes of me bend a knee to an elf.” He scoffed with a quick shake of his head, running his tongue across his teeth beneath his lips.

“Ulfric, the war is over,” Nilandur reminded him. 

“Will it ever truly be over?” 

“Yes! If you let it!” Nilandur stepped forward. “I am not, nor have I ever been your enemy. I thought you _knew_ this.” 

“Then what are you to me?” Ulfric demanded. “What am I to you?”

“You are my friend,” Nilandur answered without hesitation, earning another scoff from Ulfric. 

“Such friendly activities we exchanged.”  
“That’s unfair.” Hurt and frustration swelled behind Nilandur’s breastbone. “Would you rather call me your lover?” The expression in Ulfric’s eyes was answer enough – anger that dampened into something akin to shame. Nilandur laughed a little, rubbing his hands across his eyes. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.” He wasn’t sure why he said it. “When we were… when we all…” Grimacing, he tried to recall what had happened, his memory churning, turbulent, like crashing waves. “I just remember how… how much I regretted everything. How I’d handled things. I just wanted to see you again.” 

The confession hurt more than he expected, and Nilandur’s eyes trailed down to the ring on Ulfric’s finger. He felt weak for the admittance, small, pathetic. But there was no use denying the truth. Ulfric remained silent for a beat, breathing heavily through his nose. 

 

Neither spoke, and Nilandur half expected Ulfric to tell him to leave, to get out of his sight. Instead, he felt Ulfric move closer––he felt the brush of warm hands circling around his waist, Ulfric’s forehead pressing against his own. His own hands fluttered nervously at his side before he placed them on Ulfric’s shoulders, still trembling against the soft trim of fur. He allowed them to trace across Ulfric’s broad back, pull him closer, turning his face against Ulfric’s thick hair and inhaling deeply. Ulfric did the same, clutching him tightly, nose brushing against Nilandur’s ear and the whole world suddenly felt very small, confined to that one, singular moment. Ulfric’s lips pressed against his neck, followed by the tickle of his beard, and the soft exhale of his breath.

“Ulfric, you shouldn’t,” Nilandur insisted, shocked at how ragged his own voice sounded. Ulfric pressed another kiss to his neck, moving up to his jaw. “Ulfric…” 

And then lips were against his own, and Nilandur let out a whimper, tangling his hands in Ulfric’s hair, kissing back desperately. Ulfric’s hands remained warm and solid against his low back, holding him in place, pulling their hips together, and Nilandur was utterly helpless against all of it. He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, clinging to one another as if they might be ripped apart at any moment. Finally Ulfric pulled away with a heavy inhale, one hand snaking up to cup the back of Nilandur’s neck, keeping their foreheads pressed together. Nilandur stroked a thumb across Ulfric’s cheek, trying to catch his breath. 

 

“Stay with me,” Ulfric rumbled. 

Nilandur couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled forth from his chest. “You can’t be serious.” 

“I need an advisor.” 

“You have a _queen_. She is your advisor, now, and you are hers.” Nilandur tried to pull away further, but Ulfric held him tighter, almost possessively now. 

“It would be looked upon with favor for the high court of Skyrim to work alongside a golden––an Altmer,” he corrected quickly. 

A moment of silence passed between them.

“No,” Nilandur said, smiling sadly. Ulfric just stared at him, unmoving. 

“No,” Ulfric repeated, his hands tightening around Nilandur’s waist. “You deny the offer to have a place in the court of the king?”

“I do.”

“Then you are more of a fool than I previously thought.” 

“Ulfric,” Nilandur laughed, refusing to be bated. He reached a hand up to delicately tuck a strand of ashen gray hair behind Ulfric’s ear, running his thumb across the braid at his temple. “My time as your advisor is done. And, if anything, I failed you spectacularly.” Ulfric remained silent, warm hands still resting on Nilandur’s hips. “You have a duty to your country and your people––Nords and non-Nords alike. I cannot help you any more than I already have. Nor do I wish to be a…” He paused, his hands sliding down Ulfric’s shoulders. “A point of contention.” 

 

Ulfric’s mouth was pressed into a thin line, his gaze focused somewhere over Nilandur’s shoulder. “So this is how you say goodbye, then?” 

“It wouldn’t be my preferred way, no.” Briefly, Nilandur was reminded of Brea, how they’d said goodbye when he left for Artaeum, and he felt himself flush from head to toe. It was how Aerik came to be. Not necessarily something he’d have to worry about with Ulfric, but… 

“Then what is your preferred way?” Ulfric asked, interrupting his thoughts. Nilandur just sighed, running his hands through Ulfric’s hair one last time. 

“I don’t think we have the time.”

 

///

 

Nilandur closed the door quietly behind him as he entered Morimir’s flat. The residents had thankfully gone to bed, leaving him alone. He sighed, pressing his forehead against the door, his skin still buzzing everywhere Ulfric had touched him. He still felt breathless. As far as goodbyes went, it was fairly… _thorough_. He turned towards the living room, unsurprised to find that Teldryn was still awake, sitting cross-legged on the small couch with a book in his lap. He turned the page as Nilandur approached. 

“What are you reading?”  
Teldryn looked at him, folding his finger between the pages and held the book up to the flickering hearthfire for Nilandur to read the title: _A Children’s Anuad_. 

Nilandur laughed a bit louder than he probably should have, covering his mouth and sitting down across from him. “Not tired then?”  

Teldryn shook his head. “I’ve always had an interesting relationship with sleep. It’s only grown more complex as of late.” He returned to his book. Nilandur’s eyes landed on his golden arm, and he swallowed nervously. 

“I… think I may understand what happened to you.” 

Teldryn’s gaze snapped to him as he turned another page. 

“That would make one of us,” he mumbled.

“The Psijics are Mystics first and foremost. I just wish I could have been more help to you. I was… blinded by current events.” 

“You were incredibly helpful,” Teldryn countered, closing his book and setting it on the table. 

“Yes, but…” 

“Nilandur, you played the role you were meant to play,” Teldryn stated, and he sounded tired, despite claiming not to be. “You acted exactly as you were expected to––there’s no point in lamenting the ‘could haves’ and ‘would haves’ of the matter.”

“You say that as if you know…” Nilandur stopped himself, glancing up to meet Teldryn’s eyes. Dark, ancient. Nilandur chuckled nervously, suppressing a shiver. “The Psijics would love to have you.” 

“No, they wouldn’t,” Teldryn sighed, getting to his feet, stretching his arms up over his head with an echo of pops and cracks. “Nor would I want to join them.” 

“Why are you still here, then?” Nilandur asked, folding his hands in his lap. He knew he didn’t have to clarify. 

Teldryn stared at him for a long moment before a slow smile crept across his face. He shrugged, and Nilandur saw a bit of Aerik in the action. “I finally grew to love my life. I didn’t want it to stop.”          
Nilandur laughed a bit more fully at that. “Then Nirn is all the better for having you.” 

 

\-----

 

“I just gotta stop in here and then we can be off.”

 

Aerik leaned in to give Teldryn a lingering kiss before pushing into Radiant Raiment, a jovial spring in his step. Teldryn watched him go with a fond chuckle, leaning against the wall and settling in to watch the passing pedestrian foot traffic. They were planning on setting out for Whiterun by carriage – it would take at least a day and a half with very little stopping. Teldryn _could_ have shortened their trip, but where was the fun in that? 

 

“Spare change, ser?”     

 

Teldryn’s gaze jerked to the side where a hunched, hooded figure sat leaning against one of the beams, shaking a small metal cup at him. 

“Go beg on some other corner,” he laughed bitterly, turning his attention back to the people of Solitude. 

“How cruel.” The beggar pulled his hood back with a grin – sharp, white teeth, dark gray skin, all one color. “Have you no pity for the poor?” 

“Is that what you are now?” 

“ _Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore._ ” 

“Lovely sentiment. Can’t say I’m familiar with the quote,” Teldryn confessed, crossing his arms. “What are you doing, Vivec?”

“Living among the people!” Vivec declared with a sweeping gesture. “What else?” He pushed to standing using a gnarled, knotted stick of a cane. “Reconnecting.” 

“Fascinating approach.” 

“And what of you, Teldryn?” Vivec rested heavily on his cane. “What are _you_ doing?” 

Teldryn motioned over his shoulder with his chin. “Waiting for my husband to pick out a nice coat.”

 

Vivec’s laugh was a bit too loud for a meek beggar, startling a passing Nord woman. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulder, still grinning. Even in his more demure, Dunmer appearance he still looked feline, golden hoops dangling from his ears, completely ruining the illusion of poverty. Or maybe Teldryn was the only one seeing them.

Vivec slid a bit closer, straightening up to his full height. 

“Enjoy your life, Teldryn Sero.” He tilted his head, the golden hoops catching the light. “Love and Will guide you.” Teldryn watched him hunch forward again and hobble off with an amused quirk on his lips. 

Aerik stood on the store’s threshold, a primly wrapped parcel cradled in his arms, eyes trailing after Vivec as well. “Who in Oblivion was that?”  

“Not a clue,” Teldryn chuckled. 

“Well he certainly acted as though he knew you.”

“I believe he thought he did,” Teldryn mused. He smiled, extending his elbow in invitation to intertwine their arms. Aerik did so with a grin. 

 

“His mistake.”   

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys....
> 
> It's over. 
> 
> Holy shit. 
> 
> I have so much I want to say and I'm not sure how to even begin saying it. So I guess I'm just gonna start typing and see what comes out. 
> 
> First of all, when I started writing this story, I had no idea how deep The Lore went. I had _no idea_. I've made cheeky comments this whole time about how this story has almost bucked me off, but I shit you not. Some of the research that my characters were doing? I was doing it with them. I've only been in this fandom proper for... a year-ish. So lemme say again, _I had no idea_. Come for the porn, stay for the plot, indeed.  
> (That being said, any odd plot holes or glaring errors?? My deepest apologies. This is my first time hahaha.)
> 
> All that aside, I'm actually incredibly proud that I was able to pump this entire story out in eight months. And I'm ETERNALLY grateful for the incredible support I've gotten along the way. So many of you, dear readers, just absolutely light up my life - even you quite ones that have never even made a peep - I love you dearly.
> 
> So, if you're like me, you might be feeling a bit sad that these characters won't be around as much. But don't worry! I have other stories involving them floating about, as well as other stories friends have written staring my beautiful boys!  
> You can always [check out the series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1321931) for any additional stories or one-shots I might post featuring this cast/taking place in this universe. 
> 
> Also, some friends and I have been working on [a Modern AU](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/5E201) which will also feature Aerik, Teldryn, and Nilandur! (Once I actually post the stuff I've written... _woof_ ). 
> 
> Lastly, if you haven't seen or read them, feel free to check out these Aerik/Teldryn centered stories:
> 
> [Ceasefire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19453579), which FourCat and I wrote together.  
> [A Chance Arrangement](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20980127), written by raunchyandpaunchy, which crosses over into her Sanctum!verse and just slapped my nuts RIGHT the fuck off. 
> 
> And then, of course, [Nilandur got his own fluffy drabble](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19319713/chapters/46078579) where we can all pretend he gets some kind of vague happy ending. (I wrote it before I finished this story, so I didn't know he'd change all my plans and say 'no' lmao).
> 
> I'm rambling - and there may be one last chapter where I post a bunch of my art - but tl;dr, thank you so much for reading my story. It's not perfect. Hell, sometimes it barely feels coherent... But I had such a good time writing it. 
> 
> (Stay tuned for another Teldryn-centric story that's in the works [different universe], that should be cropping up in the next month~ ~~which technically stars Neloth but shhh...~~ ) 
> 
> All my love,
> 
> Topsy

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, I'm an attention whore and love comments. Please review if you feel so inclined! 
> 
> （´・｀ ）♡


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